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I S S U E 1 1 6 ———— F E A T U R E S

CONTENTS December 2017-January 2018

IN WITH THE NEW

THE EYE HAS TO TRAVEL

“Having grown up in the local showbiz industry, Erich Gonzales has made a name for herself playing by the rules. But with her new film, Siargao, the actress tells Emil Hofileña how she’s breaking from the mold, now making art that challenges and frightens her.

Glecy Rustia-Tantoco knew exactly what the upper crust liked. And, as she went and paved a life of luxury for herself, she found a way to give it to a Manila society clamoring for the finer things. Her son Rico Tantoco talks to Jerome Gomez about the beginnings of an empire.

ENTER THE VOID

AGA IN S T THE RULES

A sanctuary to artists, filmmakers, musicians, and troublemakers, one small bar in Quezon City has managed to endure in Metro Manila’s constantly changing landscape. Kara Ortiga ponders the continuing appeal of the city’s most revered hole-in-the-wall.

The unkind streets are never without their danger, and daring to walk them in the night will always be its own kind of fearlessness. Visual artist Czar Kristoff photographs a story of two rebels on the prowl, challenging the system.

“What I’ve learned from

being in a love team is that

PLEASURES OF THE FLESH There is a new energy in a space as expressive as a club—one that’s been historically instrumental in pushing things forward. Cenon Norial III wanders in the early hours and captures the exchange of ideas in fashion, music, and art to reveal that dancing isn’t all there is to do.

romance and chemistry cannot be saccharine. You need to find a way to express authentic emotions.” ERICH GONZALES

PHOTOGRAPH BY PATRICK DIOKNO

THE WORLDS AT WAR How do you pick up the pieces of a war that shattered everything in sight? As the residents of Marawi face a bigger struggle, reporter Jeff Canoy recounts the night that sparked the end of the five-month-long battle to reclaim the city from the clutches of terrorism.

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I S S U E 1 1 5 ———— S E C T I O N S

CONTENTS December 2017-January 2018

AG EN DA

S PAC E

Ian Schrager finally opens up about infamous tales and hedonistic nights at his legendary nightclub Studio 54; now the go-to place for new drink experiences, Poblacion watering hole Polilya may be the best new bar of 2017; responsible for films like Patay Na si Hesus and Deadma Walking, businessman Rex Tiri narrates his journey as an amateur film producer.

In its 15 years as Metro Manila’s beacon for refined Italian design, Furnitalia’s strength hasn’t been in staging spectacles, but in stirring up sensations; artist, filmmaker, and writer Eames Demetrios sits down and tells us about his thoughts on design and about his tome about the work of legendary design team Charles and Ray Eames.

“I felt that what was

happening was more

than news. It was a sign

of things to come.”

VEEJAY VILLAFRANCA

THE EYE

TH E S LA NT

We team up with Kapwa Studio to show you what to do with your hair, no matter how much of it you have, just in time for 2018; Erwan Le Louër talks about his unique vision of ethical, minimalist luxury as embodied by men’s jewelry brand Le Gramme; Nike and Benjamin Von Wong create hyperrealist magic 30 stories up, all for the new VaporMax

In a year full of revelations and allegations of sexual abuse, Audrey N. Carpio wonders how to raise her boys to be the real men of tomorrow; Philbert Dy talks about the disappointing sameness of food parks; Star Cinema insider Kriz Gazmen examines the studio giant’s year in films and the diversity that may just be coming to its lineup this 2018.

PHOTOGRAPH BY VEEJAY VILLAFRANCA

ON THE COVER

Editor-in-Chief JONTY CRUZ! Executive Editor JEROME GOMEZ!Managing Editor JACS T. SAMPAYAN! Features Editor PHILBERT DY!Style Editor MANO GONZALES Copy Editor NANA CARAGAY!Staff Writer EMIL HOFILEÑA!

Photographed by Patrick Diokno Styled by Mano Gonzales Makeup by Jigs Mayuga Hair by John Valle Erich Gonzales wears Nami accessories.

Editorial Assistant PATRICIA CHONG

ART Junior Designers PIA SAMSON, MARK SANTIAGO! Online Art Director MAGS OCAMPO!Online Junior Art Director ANDREW PANOPIO

Contributing Writers JEFF CANOY, ERIC CABAHUG, CHRYSSA CELESTINO, KRIZ GAZMEN, KARA ORTIGA, SAM POTENCIANO, MIXKAELA VILLALON Contributing Photographers & Artists VINCENT ASEO, KOJI ARBOLEDA, ANDREA BELDUA, PATRICK DIOKNO, EVERYWHERE WE SHOOT, CZAR KRISTOFF, RALPH MENDOZA, RENZO NAVARRO, CENON NORIAL III, MARCO UGOY Interns GELO DIONORA, ICA RIVERA, ALEXANDRIA TUICO

PUBLISHING Publisher VICKY MONTENEGRO / vicky.montenegro@roguemedia.ph Associate Publisher ANI A. HILA / ani.hila@roguemedia.ph Senior Advertising Sales Director MINA GARA / mina.gara@roguemedia.ph Account Managers DENISE MAGTOTO, TRICIA QUINTERO Marketing Manager TRIXIE DAWN CABILAN

Unit 102, Building 2, OPVI Centre 2295 Jannov Plaza, Pasong Tamo Extension Makati, 1231 Telephone: (+632) 729-7747 Telefax: (+632) 894-2676 Email: mail@roguemedia.ph Online Presence:

Publishing Assistant MADS TEOTICO / mads.teotico@roguemedia.ph

rogue.ph

Advertising Traffic Officer & Production Coordinator MYRA CABALUNA

Facebook.com/rogue.magazine

Associate Circulation Manager RAINIER S. BARIA Circulation Supervisor MARK ROLAND LEAL

Twitter: @rogueonline Instagram: @rogueonline

Circulation Assistant JERICO ALDANA

Tablet version available at:

Dispatch Supervisors ERIC GARCIA, JIMUEL TATAD

Zinio.com/Rogue

Controller EDEN G. ARGONZA!Finance Analyst JEMMALYN LUCERO Credit & Collection Officer MISCHELLE MOLA HR Supervisor RUSCHEL REYES

Oﬃcial Internet Service Provider:

Administrative Supervisor DEANNA GUEVARRA

For subscriptions, back issues, bulk orders, and other circulation concerns please contact: Rainier S. Baria (+632) 729-7747 rainier.baria@roguemedia.ph ROGUE MAGAZINE IS PUBLISHED MONTHLY, ELEVEN TIMES PER YEAR. THE EDITORS AND PUBLISHERS OF THE MAGAZINE MAKE NO REPRESENTATIONS OR WARRANTIES IN RELATION TO THE ACCURACY OR COMPLETENESS OF THE CONTENTS OF THE ADVERTISEMENTS, PRODUCTS, AND SERVICES ADVERTISED IN THIS EDITION. OPINIONS EXPRESSED IN THIS MAGAZINE ARE SOLELY THOSE OF THE AUTHORS AND DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THE VIEWS OF ROGUE MAGAZINE. THIS MAGAZINE IS FULLY PROTECTED BY COPYRIGHT, AND NO PART OF THIS MAGAZINE MAY BE USED OR REPRODUCED IN ANY MANNER WHATSOEVER WITHOUT THE WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THE EDITORS AND PUBLISHERS.

ISSUE 116

THE EDITOR’S NOTE December 2017-January 2018

Separation Anxiety THIS WAS A strange year to become a firsttime editor-in-chief, to be completely honest. As I was starting out, balancing both excitement and anxiety, it seemed every other editor-in-chief worth his or her salt was announcing their exit, willingly or otherwise. And magazines themselves were closing, laying off staff in another round of budget cuts, and more and more were moving to the greener pastures of digital and leaving print altogether. Every month, I’d either read about another international editor leaving, or another local title ending. From the end of Lucky Peach to the exit of Graydon Carter to the abrupt shut down of Teen Vogue’s print edition—just as they were transforming into a new kind of cultural institution—there were more exits than entries. I wasn’t even done digesting the industry-wide breakups when I had to say goodbye to some of our own editors. For one reason or another, editors have left every month since July—my first issue as EIC. Reasons would vary: opportunities elsewhere, or things out of their control. Some were more surprising than others, and I spent many sleepless nights wondering if I was the cause of all these departures, or if this was the start of a long and perhaps final industry exodus. But as the old cliché goes, as one door closes, another one opens. Sparks of

something new came right at me at the right time. Our designers, writers, and editors more than willingly took up the weight left by those who moved on. New stories emerged and the potential to add rather than subtract certain plans came to light. As publishing continues to pivot to digital—a move that’s still on shifting sands—the only real compass to guide us is the work and dedication of our staff. That is the underlying truth of this business. The future of publishing rests not on the promise of online executions or ingenious advertising schemes but on the people who make it. I see that everyday in the office every time one of our younger editors pitches a story, or when our art department completely brings one of our features to life. It is in the hands of the creatives who continue to produce exceptional and surprising work that gives me all the optimism I need in this business. A magazine is a community—one shared by readers and its contributors. It’s a venue for thoughts not only to be made real but to be improved upon. It’s a celebration of ideas, an ongoing discussion of the issues and interests facing us today. Call me naïve but this is exactly why I’ll eternally love this job. No matter what kind of pressure comes, there is an inherent joy and communal

JONT Y CRUZ Editor-in-Chief

satisfaction in making magazines, working with people more talented than me, and seeing a product become more than just the sum of its parts. In a podcast interview with Longform’s Max Linsky, GQ editor in chief Jim Nelson, who’s been at the helm for almost 15 years and is steering the brand on its 60th anniversary, was asked if he, for one reason or another, had to vacate his post, how would he pitch the job to his replacement given the decline of the glossy magazine. There was a bit of morbidity and a foreboding sense of melancholy to the question but Nelson’s answer was as inspiring as it was hopeful. “This job is awesome. Sometimes it’s stressful but you get to run great stories and you get to work with great people, why wouldn’t you take the job?” says Nelson. “The first thing I would say is you’re a fool if you think you’re just becoming the editor of a glossy magazine. You’re becoming the editor of [so many] things and hopefully the person cares about all that stuff... Again, to me the ones that thrive are the ones that feel that like ‘I’m just going to maximize what I can do, feel fortunate for what I can do, and recognize that whatever job I think I’m getting is not really the job I’m getting.’ You can’t sell somebody on the job [as it is] but on the job that’s it’s going to be.”

ISSUE 116

THE GUEST LIST December 2017-January 2018

VINCENT ASEO is an illustrator based in Quezon City. He began working as a multimedia artist in 2008, and has worked with Marvel, Fox, Disney, and a good number of publications. When he isn’t working, he enjoys a good chat and a cup of coffee.

KARA ORTIGA is the editor-in-chief of Philippine Star Supreme. Before that, she worked as an editor at Esquire Philippines and as a columnist at Young Star. In this issue, she takes us into Quezon City’s most revered hole-in-thewall, Big Sky Mind.

CENON NORIAL III is a freelance fashion photographer based in Manila. He is also the editor-in-chief and creative director of ADHD Magazine, which covers art, music, and fashion. He’s taken photos for other publications such as Preview and L’Officiel Manila.

AUDREY N. CARPIO is the features editor of Esquire Philippines and a columnist for the Philippine Star. In this issue, she writes about her worries in raising two boys in a culture deeply rooted in misogyny.

PHOTO OF PATRICK DIOKNO BY FRANCESCA GAMBOA

JEFF CANOY is an award-winning broadcast journalist who’s been working for ABS-CBN News since 2007. Based in Manila, he currently covers the Philippine National Police, the government’s war on drugs, and natural disasters.

KRIZ GAZMEN was a graduate of the University of the Philippines with a degree in Film and Audio-Visual Studies. These days, he’s Star Cinema’s creative manager and has produced films such as No Other Woman, How to Be Yours, and Last Night.

CZAR KRISTOFF is an artist who lives and works in Laguna. He works across still and moving images, installation and bookmaking, and has exhibited his works in London, Vienna, and Berlin. He doesn’t really like it when people take photos of him.

PATRICK DIOKNO is a freelance photographer based in Manila, though some will know him as Rogue’s former senior designer, or L’Officiel Manila and STATUS Magazine’s former art director. In this issue, he shoots the cover with Erich Gonzales.

December 2017-January 2018

Edited by

JEROME GOMEZ

AGENDA

Issue

116

F O O D + E N T E RTA I N M E N T + C U LT U R E + T R AV E L

PANIC

AT THE

DISCO A new book captures the unbridled hedonism and bacchanalia that characterized the glory days of Studio 54, in the words and memorabilia of co-founder and hotshot hotelier Ian Schrager WORDS BY NANA CARAGAY

“PICS OR IT didn’t

happen” is a common refrain in the social media age, where every phone comes armed with a camera conveniently designed to capture the extraordinary and the mundane. But such was not the case back in the dazzling disco heyday of Studio 54. On the nights when photographers were present, the scenes they immortalized have become the stuff of legend: Bianca Jagger straddling a white horse. Woody Allen and Michael Jackson partying side by side. Margaret Trudeau shimmying with wild abandon, years before it would be announced that she was divorcing the Canadian prime minister (and Justin Trudeau’s dad), Pierre Trudeau. Such were the nightly goings-on in what has since become recognized as the most fabled nightclub of all time, made possible by the freewheeling spirit of the late 1970s—a magical period that, as movie mogul David Geffen described it, “came after birth control and before AIDS… the pinnacle of the sexual revolution in which people were open and free.” And the nightlife proved to be all the crazier for it—in its fleeting 33 months of existence, from the wild April 1977 opening night (those who made it inside: a newly married Donald Trump and his then-wife, Ivana; those who didn’t make the cut: Henry Winkler, Warren Beatty, and Robert Duvall) until the 1980 “End of Modern-Day Gomorrah” send-off party (where Diana Ross serenaded the crowd while standing atop the DJ booth), Studio 54 occupies a rarefied place in the cultural zeitgeist that no other club has come close to since, and it’s safe to say no other club ever will. “People who weren’t even born are talking about it,” ex-owner Ian Schrager once bragged. Many books and movies have attempted to capture and recreate the electrifying Studio 54 atmosphere, if only to approximate the feeling of what it was like to have actually been there. But now comes the ultimate volume from the only living person who can really, truly tell you what the place was all about: Ian Schrager himself. The man has since embarked on a successful career as a hotelier (credited with inventing the

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NIGHTS IN BLACK SATIN

Well-dressed revelers are part of the Studio 54 imprint. Previous, clockwise from top left: dance floor action; Truman Capote and Yul Brynner; Karl Lagerfeld; Salvador Dali trailed by a handsome guest; Paloma Picasso; fashion people partying the night away.

“boutique hotel” category) and is opening up, for the first time, in a coffee table book titled Studio 54 (rizzoli.com). But why now, 40 years after its infamous Man in the Moon centerpiece first shone down on a dancefevered crowd? Schrager has admitted that, on his part, the memories are bittersweet, the heady success enjoyed by him and his former college roommate Steve Rubell tempered by the controversial circumstances surrounding the club’s end. After co-founder Rubell boldly proclaimed that “only the Mafia makes more money,” US federal agents raided the premises and found garbage bags stuffed with cash, along with 300 Quaaludes and packets of cocaine. Schrager and Rubell went on to serve 13 months in prison for tax evasion; Rubell died of hepatitis and septic shock in 1989. But Schrager still remembers, and in this nearly 400-page edition, he is letting the various bits of pictures and memorabilia he has held onto throughout the years do the talking. There is a folded up copy of the invitation to the opening night, when

thousands of revelers lined up outside the door. (According to Anthony Haden-Guest’s memoir The Last Party, a group that was waiting to get in spontaneously began a drugfueled streetside orgy.) There is a notice from the New York City Department of Health informing them that bringing wild animals into a bar violated two different health codes. (It was a favorite stunt: apart from the Jaggeron-a-horse incident, they brought in livestock for a party in honor of Dolly Parton, and on other nights, there were doves, a leopard, an elephant, and a panther.) And then there was the night that aerial performers dangled from the ceiling as colorful balloons floated to the floor; the night Karl Lagerfeld brought in entertainers dressed in full Marie Antoinettestyle regalia; the time a Parisian cabaret producer had nearly naked men and women roll in atop 30 mopeds; the Casablanca Records party that featured a cornucopialike spread of food; the Grease premiere party peppered with vintage 1950s convertibles... and lest you cast any doubt whether all of the above really did happen, well, they did. There are pictures to prove it. n

STUDIO 54 BY IAN SCHRAGER IS PUBLISHED BY RIZZOLI PRICED AT £55.00.

PHOTO BY HASSE PERSSON. PREVIOUS, FROM TOP: FIRST ROW PHOTOS BY ADAM SCULL/PHOTOLINK/NEWSCOM; SECOND ROW PHOTOS BY DUSTIN PIT TMAN; THIRD ROW PHOTOS BY ADAM SCULL/PHOTOLINK/NEWSCOM AND DUSTIN PIT TMAN

AGENDA CULTURE

AGENDA DRINKS

LIKE MOTHS TO A FLAME We’re calling it: Polilya is the best new bar of 2017. Poblacion’s latest watering hole has quickly become the go-to place for fresh experiences WORDS BY PHILBERT DY'PHOTOS BY MARCO UGOY

PERHAPS THE MOST serious sign

that Polilya has been doing well is that they’re running out of glassware. “We started out with 100 glasses with our Engkanto branding on them,” says co-owner Ian Paradies. “We’re down to about 30.” Polilya is a family affair. Paradies owns the bar with his sister Nina, wife Sandra, and his cousin Alex Colombo. But it’s no mom-and-pop shop. On a typical weekend night, the crowd spills out onto the street, and it becomes difficult to keep track of their inventory. Paradies doesn’t think that

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everyone who ended up taking home a glass did so maliciously. Perhaps, in the chaos of a raucous night of drinking, a customer may have placed his or her glass in their bag, intending to return it later on but forgetting to do so. But Paradies also confesses to surreptitiously bringing home glassware from his favorite bars. “I can’t really blame them,” he says. Polilya is a place that inspires the kind of devotion that might lead to such petty theft. The glassware is nice, first of all, bearing the moth logo of the brewery that Paradies also runs. And

they are filled with some of the best craft beers in Metro Manila. Engkanto Brewery has grown pretty quickly in the last year, becoming one of the most widely available craft brews in the country. Polilya doubles as their public tap room, giving customers a chance to taste all five of their standard styles, plus two or three seasonal experimental brews. The beer figures into everything else on their rather thoughtful menu. A lot of the bar chow uses it as an ingredient, and the six signature cocktails all employ beer in some way. It should feel

Because Polilya isn’t a bar that simply wants to give people what they’re used to. It is welcoming, but not pandering, more willing to take a slight left turn into the unfamiliar. THE BEER ESSENTIALS

Polilya uses its own brand of beer in everything it does. From its cocktails to the cuisine itself, the menu is a top-to-bottom showcase of what the Engkanto Brewery selection can do.

POLILYA IS AT 5658 JACOBO ST., POBLACION, MAKATI; 0998-998-2017

like a novelty, but it doesn’t. It isn’t just some gimmick: there is palpable care in the way that all these elements come together, real thought put into how the beer fits into the dishes or the cocktails. It is what gives the lift to the broth in which the mussels are cooked, and substance to the batter used to fry the jalapeño pickles and the fish and chips. In the cocktails, the infusions give interesting dimension to drinks that are already pretty complex and compelling on their own. The cocktail menu was put together by US-based mixologist Priscilla Young, and it’s just one of the best selections you’ll find anywhere. It offers real variety: one may go for the affordable but substantial Blame It on the Heat, a take on a frozen shandy given more heft by the addition of Engkanto’s stout; or one may prefer the wild, exotic flavors of the Tigrita, made with mezcal, tepache, pineapple juice, cilantro, and a dash of their double IPA. Those two drinks represent the ends of a spectrum of complexity (and price) on their cocktail menu. The former is that friendly, frozen drink you can sip on all night, fighting off the muggy oppressiveness of the city, while the latter is the drink you get when you’re ready for something more serious. Mezcal, a spirit still rarely seen on this side of the globe, forms the savory, smoky backbone for this eye-opening cocktail.

And everything between those ends is pretty interesting, too; there’s always something making it a little more special. They make their own blend of whiskies for their Old Fashioned, for example. Their Rum Coke is made with their own cola, and the sweetness is tamed with the addition of their house bitters. The spirits that line the back of the bar feel carefully curated, eschewing many of the popular bottles that people might be looking for. Because Polilya isn’t a bar that simply wants to give people what they’re used to. It is welcoming, but not pandering, more willing to take a slight left turn into the unfamiliar. And that’s the key difference. A lot of bars have opened up in Metro Manila in the last year, and many of them are good. But Polilya has a brashness to it, a palpable commitment to not just replicating the success of bars past. Everything they serve feels like a friendly invitation into something new, a call to adventure that might lead the thirsty patron into discovering what it is that he really wants in a drink. The answer might just be in the craft beers that they pour, or in the little twists they add to classic cocktails, or in the more out-there explorations present in their signature six. It is no wonder people are stealing their glassware. What’s an adventure without a souvenir? n D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 7-J A N U A R Y 2 0 1 8

AGENDA ART

DAYS OF THUNDER Documentary photographer Veejay Villafranca captures the human face of calamity in his first book WORDS BY PATRICIA CHONG

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HERE’S ONE THING no one actually wants to talk about: climate change. In an archipelago hit by over a dozen storms a year, this kind of conversation tends to quickly come to a dead end, filled with hazy lingo and doomsaying. Even documentary photographer Veejay Villafranca would call it tedious—which is why he’s steering the conversation in a different direction with the release of Signos, his first book. Published by MAPA Books, Signos compiles six years’ worth of Villafranca’s stunning photographs of the aftermaths of storms and droughts that have only intensified over time. With the devastation of Typhoon Yolanda, Villafranca’s lens captures how the country’s understanding of calamity has realigned itself. “One conscious effort that I followed all throughout was to give a human face to the ‘new norm’ that we face,” he says. “I present humanized facts instead of figures, graphs, and evidence alone.” Designed and sequenced deliberately off a “onetrack path,” Signos navigates the extremes of stark, barren lands and flooded cities in ruins to tell the stories of people dealing with the fallout even after journalists and television crews have packed up and cleared out. “The cycle of news photography wasn’t enough for the amount of stories that were coming out of the affected areas… [but] I felt that what was happening was more than news. It was a sign of things to come.” The photographer began the project when he documented the floods that paralyzed Metro Manila after Typhoon Ondoy’s endless rains— moving from the Pasig river, swollen with pollution and rainwater, to Taguig and Marikina,

STORM WARNING

Many of the photos in the book were taken in the aftermath of Typhoon Yolanda. From top: In order to protect her identity, Villafranca took this double exposure image of a human trafficking victim in front of the plants used as an outlet for rehabilitation at a rescue shelter; the town of Tacloban, which the photographer notes “seemed to be blanketed by fog, but most of it was coming from the burning debris from all over the city, creating an eerie scene.” Opposite, from top: A child walks through the tankers washed ashore by the tidal surge in Anibong, the town most often used by the media to illustrate Yolanda’s strength; a photograph taken in Tacloban almost a month after the surge.

Signos navigates the extremes of stark, barren lands and flooded cities in ruins to tell the stories of people still dealing with the fallout.

SIGNOS BY VEEJAY VILLAFRANCA IS PUBLISHED BY MAPA BOOKS.

where Villafranca was met by the sight of Philippine Navy soldiers loading recovered cadavers onto a truck. Monsoons in the years after would bring him to farmlands ruined by disaster; to countless temporary shelters, which have ranged from churches to run-down cola factories; to protests against the government’s sluggish recovery efforts a year after Yolanda. “One standing issue that has been persistent through the years would be the human errors we continuously commit,” he notes. “I am talking about politicized relief and recovery efforts, and also the lack of commitment from the government on how to address carbon emissions and pollution.” The conversation, instead of stopping at sympathy and destruction, stutters to life at the challenge of finding new solutions to perennial issues unresolved years after the storm. As Signos examines how far the country has come in responding to disaster (just how far, really, is up to you), it also asks a bigger question—where are we going? n

D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 7-J A N U A R Y 2 0 1 8

AGENDA DRINKS

SHOW BUSINESS Rex Tiri, the producer behind Patay Na si Hesus and Deadma Walking, recounts what finally made him go all in on film after years of trying to stay away WORDS BY EMIL HOFILEÑA' PHOTO BY ANDREA BELDUA

AS THE REST of the world sent off 2016 with fireworks, Rex Tiri kept to himself, excitedly reading through Eric Cabahug’s script for the 2017 Metro Manila Film Festival entry Deadma Walking. He was rushing to meet a deadline: earlier that year, Tiri had told himself that if he couldn’t get ahold of a good script by December 31, then he would abandon film production once and for all. But by the time the fireworks were over, Tiri had decided to officially incorporate his fledgling production outfit, T-Rex Entertainment. Tiri tells me this story in one of the function rooms of Limbaga 77, his café and restaurant in Quezon City. Tiri is a businessman by trade—the proprietor of six companies, chief among them being Lifeline Diagnostic Supplies, Inc. Film production is something he just stumbled upon. “I am not an artist,” he insists. “Sa [mga artist] sobra akong natutuwa. Sana ganoon din ako.” Still, he has a knack for storytelling; many of his responses are anecdotes told with detail and verve. He launches into the story of how T-Rex began: how Tiri was invited to fund Elwood Perez’s 2014 film, Esoterika: Maynila. Completely unfamiliar with the filmmaking process at the time, he recounts, “Sabi ko, ‘How do you go about film production?’ Sabi [ni Elwood Perez], ‘We just need your money.’” After a year or so, Perez came back to Tiri with a DVD copy of the completed film. Someone had decided to credit him as “T-Rex Entertainment Productions.” Following Esoterika, word began to spread that a new producer had allowed Perez complete creative control over his latest film. Impressed, filmmakers began to visit Limbaga 77, which Tiri had turned to after swearing off of producing films. “Sabi nga nila, kung may galit ka raw sa isang tao, hayaan mo raw siya mag-produce ng pelikula, para maghirap,” he jokes. “Hindi siya murang gawin, and I have other businesses to protect.” But even as Tiri was disheartened at the idea of infinitesimal returns on investment, part of him kept finding reasons to come back. When Gil Portes visited his café to pitch Ang Hapis at Himagsik ni Hermano Puli, Tiri began to feel a deeper calling. “Sabi ko, ‘[Hermano Puli] could be my contribution to the youth.’ It was not about making a film, it was about educating people,” he says. Once more, Tiri funded the film, gave Portes full creative control, lamented the lack of profit, and promised never to produce again. It was only when Tiri read the first draft of the Cebuano comedy Patay Na si Hesus—and was blown

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“Sabi ko, ‘How do you go about film production?’ Sabi [ni Elwood Perez], ‘We just need your money.’” Walking Tall Until That Thing Called Tadhana came along, Palanca-winning screenplays never made it big in the box office. This year, however, Deadma Walking may prove to be a worthy successor WORDS BY ERIC CABAHUG

had always thought the highest literary prize in the country was all about the “serious,” the “important,” the “weighty.” So I couldn’t believe it when the screenplay of Deadma Walking won 2nd prize at the 2016 Carlos Palanca Awards for Literature (it was published as a paperback in August this year and made it to National Book Store’s Top 10 Bestsellers of Philippine Fiction Books in October). I mean, consider the predecessors. Chito Roño’s Badil from 2013 is a searing political drama about corruption during elections. Last year’s Judy Ann Santos-starrer Kusina is a feministic

BACK FOR MORE

Disheartened by the infinitesmal returns on investment, Tiri had sworn off producing films until he read the first draft of Cebuano comedy Patay Na si Hesus.

meditation on the evolving role of women in Philippine society. Azucena from 1999 is a heartrending drama about the friendship between a dog butcher and a 12-year-old girl struggling with domestic violence. Deadma Walking? Child’s play compared to any of those. It’s a lighthearted romp about a gay guy who, after being diagnosed with a terminal illness, stages his own fake death, wake, and funeral with the help of his gay best friend. Because he wants to hear what people have to say about him. And because, why not? My impression about the Palancas changed little even after an award-winning film director friend (himself a Palanca laureate who had served on the competition jury many times) told me in mid-2015 that Deadma Walking had a good chance of winning the literary prize. I had not thought about entering the competition until he recommended it. I joined because, why not? I had nothing to lose except Uber money for the trip to the Palanca oﬃce in Makati to submit the script. At the time, it had been almost a year since I sent him the first draft as some sort of pitch for him to come onboard as prospective director. The same friend supported Deadma Walking when he sat on the selection committee of one of the scriptbased indie film grant competitions I joined prior to the Palancas. The script almost walked into the Final 10; it went only as far as the 11th spot. It was briefly considered when one of the finalists backed out, but the committee decided against it because the lineup would have one too many LGBTQ-themed movies.

away—that he admitted to himself that he had gotten attached to the industry. “That was the time I said, ‘I want to do more films again in support of the arts,’” he recalls. “Kasi grabe, andaming magagaling, pero bakit wala silang projects? Maybe I could, in my own little way, contribute. At least kahit papaano, matutupad ko ang pangarap ng ibang tao.” Today, T-Rex Entertainment has around 15 full-time employees, including a creative team headed by director Petersen Vargas. Tiri still calls the final shots, but only after his team has whittled down the dozens of pitches to the very best. “I think what’s important is that you develop people, you trust people, you empower people to do their thing. Then ’pag nagawa mo ’yun, sila na ’yung bahala sa negosyo,” he says. Tiri claims not to feel overwhelmed by his six businesses, as he knows they’re all in capable hands apart from his own. This is not to say that he has become complacent. On the contrary, much of Tiri’s attention now goes toward learning how to become a better producer. For Deadma Walking, Tiri decided to visit the set for the first time, not to interfere, but to show how much he supports the production. “I love the film. Gusto ko ’yung atake in the sense na it’s not a love story, it’s about friendship,” he explains. “Sinasabi kasi natin lagi, ‘Hinahanap ko ’yung soulmate ko.’ Pero hindi lagi ang soulmate mo ay may romance. Your soulmate can also be a friend.” While Tiri is aware of his own inexperience, he’s already anchored himself on the company’s tagline (“Productions that matter”) and is quickly becoming familiar with the current industry landscape. “Importante ’yung ma-educate ang audience natin. They have to be given options,” he asserts. “Magaganda naman ’yung ibang pelikula, pero sana lang may variety. Lahat naman na pelikula ay importante.” He might still be learning the ropes, but he is in it for the long haul, this time for good. n

It wasn’t the right time, the right platform, the right environment. Deadma Walking was meant to, uh, come out in 2016, where it fit snugly into the new world of fake news. When we were about to launch the movie production in May 2017, the publicity team asked the two other members of the jury for blurbs we could use in the marketing materials. One of them gave this one-liner: “In this age of fake news, Deadma Walking promises to be this year’s Die Beautiful in a rollicking comedy about a fabulous fake death.” The comparison to that award-winning blockbuster from the 2016 MMFF dogged the movie from the get-go. In fact, it was the topic that hogged our very first press conference. We weren’t surprised. Not at all. Deadma, Die. Gays, transgender. Comedydrama, comedy-drama. Die is such a great film to be mentioned alongside. I’d be happy if Deadma achieves even half of Die’s critical and commercial successes. Or maybe even less than half. But don’t tell that to my producer. He wants three-fourths of Die’s total boxoffice gross. At the very least. Or that of That Thing Called Tadhana, the only other lighthearted Palancawinning script to be turned into a film (it won in 2014) so far and the only one that has scored big at the box office. No one can blame him. Deadma wasn’t a cheap production, literally and figuratively. Here’s hoping that the Christmas box office makes its way toward Deadma Walking and gives me something new to be incredulous about. n D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 7-J A N U A R Y 2 0 1 8

AGENDA MUSIC

GROUP LOVE In the wake of sexual misconduct allegations disrupting the local music scene, Cheats stands firm as a band that exemplifies unity and hope WORDS BY EMIL HOFILEÑA

ON NOVEMBER 21, members of several independent bands in the local music scene were accused of sexual misconduct toward female fans. Despite action taken by different festival organizers and gig producers to purge these bands from their lineups, it had become clear that it would take far more work from everybody to bring the scene back to a place of safety and trust. The individual incidents pointed to a systemic issue: that of musicians taking advantage of the very community that had given them their power. But amid the collective pain is an occasion for collective joy: the band Cheats is about to have babies. Two of the group’s seven-member roster—vocalist-guitaristkeyboardist Jim Bacarro and vocalist Saab Magalona—are welcoming twins in a few months. This turns this already close-knit band into an actual family and an example of the kind of supportive community the music scene can still be. This is surprising, considering how collaboration was the last thing on Bacarro’s mind when he initially set out to form Cheats. “When my original band died, I said, ‘I don’t want to deal with people anymore,’” he recalls, having experienced all the worst parts of being in a manufactured act. But more and more people started getting involved with Bacarro, until the bonds of their relationships overtook his hesitations. “I realized I would never be a solo artist. It’s always more fun when there’s a lot of people.” The risk has paid off: not only has Cheats kept its uncommonly large number of members (after a couple of lineup changes), but it makes effective use of everyone’s talents. The band’s self-titled debut album deftly strikes a balance between all of the members’ musical influences. The result: dynamic and layered vocal work against frequent bursts of energy and lyrics both cryptic and carefree. With so many cooks in the kitchen, one would expect bumps in the songwriting process. But Cheats only seems to be more productive together—so much so that the band already has enough material for their next few albums. For now, they take their next step with Before the Babies, their recently launched sophomore record. “This is the album na natuto ’yung band,” 22 D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 7-J A N U A R Y 2 0 1 8

COME TOGETHER

Cheats is comprised of (from left) Kyle Quismundo, Jason Caballa, Candy Gamos, Jim Bacarro, Saab Magalona, Enzo Hermosa, and Manny Tanglao.

The members of Cheats have faith in this community, whose continued passion trumps any darkness. Bacarro states. “Like, hey, let’s give these songs what they deserve.” Before the Babies signifies growth for Cheats, not through making their sound bigger, but by finding the value in toning things down. It takes a more thoughtful approach in assembling each song instead of just ending every track with a wall of noise. “My sense of being a professional artist developed,” bassist Manny Tanglao says. “Before, our perception of music was we didn’t care; just play. Now it’s become something you take seriously.” In this way, the album’s title is apt: Before the Babies connotes a sense of preparedness and forward-thinking, albeit not without some uncertainty. “There’s always going to be that fear of where we’re going after the babies are born because you don’t really know

what’s going to happen after that,” vocalist Candy Gamos remarks. “But everybody is just happy right now that we’re having new additions to the family, and that completely overshadows the fear.” There is still, of course, fear in the other parts of the scene still reeling from recent events. But the members of Cheats have faith in this community, whose continued passion and creativity trumps any sort of darkness, uniting vastly different people through a shared love. “Not everyone’s going to like the same [music],” Magalona says. “But we all know the hard work it takes to go onstage. We’ve played for empty bars and full bars alike. You understand na we’re all doing the same thing.” The local music scene, they believe, will endure—for this generation and the next. n

December 2017-January 2018

Edited by

MANO GONZALES

SPACE

DESIGN + INTERIORS + ARCHITECTURE + TECHNOLOGY

T A S T E

M A K E R

On its 15th anniversary, Furnitalia reinvigorates our sense of aesthetics through Italian furniture that reimagines our way of living WORDS BY CHRYSSA CELESTINO!PHOTOS BY RENZO NAVARRO

Issue

116

SPACE DESIGN

“I tried slowly to educate the market; why it’s worth investing in this kind of furniture.”

STAGING SPECTACLES IS not the forte of Italian furniture; if you’ve sauntered into the showroom of Furnitalia in the past 15 years, where foreign fixtures for the home arrest with their form and make, you will understand that their strength is stirring up sensations. Whether the feeling is to grasp a dormant instinct of what is beautiful or to confront the Italians’ wild reimagining of lines and structure, the triumph of co-owner and managing director Florence Ko and the labels she brings in is invoking our reverence for space and the matter that fills it. It is ironic to find Manila’s beacon for refined Italian design sitting in the middle of a developing city, slowly becoming cramped by buildings yet to be finished. And yet, it is also strategic—a conscious step by an entity celebrating more than a decade in the industry to respect its lot and make do with it. Glass windows and a blinding amount of light mount an illusion of negative space and 26 D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 7-J A N U A R Y 2 0 1 8

FLORENCE, ITALIA

From top: Furnitalia features Progetti Pure, a limited edition armchair made from beech and saddle leather, from Italian brand Giorgetti, a brand that has been around for more than a century; For 15 years, Furnitalia has been the country’s premier store for Italian luxury furniture. The woman behind it is Florence Ko, Furnitalia’s managing director and co-owner.

liberty to roam. It does a better job, however, in prescribing domestic essentials that translate luxury into tactile experiences at home. Furnitalia has been redefining the meaning of furniture through the brands that it carries. What were once thought of as dull items made to occupy empty rooms are now respected as timeless objects that speak volumes about their culture. Flaunting a portfolio that includes Poltrona Frau, Molteni & C, Fiam, and Veblen, its legacy is educating Filipinos with pieces that manifest Italian principles of function, creation, beauty, and simplicity. “During my first few years, it was not easy for me to introduce high-quality furniture. The market was still naive at that time,” Ko recounts. Today, armed with hindsight, she confesses she knew little about the landscape and needed to inform herself. “But I took it as a challenge. I tried slowly to educate the market; why it’s worth investing in this kind of furniture. After 15 years, the market has matured and they know what they want.” What we want, it seems, are things that we thought we knew, but didn’t. Floor lamps in Furnitalia, for instance, do not flaunt the same rigid silhouettes that can be seen in second-class shops. Instead, we get the Palluco Fortuny Floor Lamp, a lighting fixture inspired by stage lighting that stands on legs similar to a camera tripod. Or the Giorgetti Tilt Armchair, a seat that displays its nautical influences through an ergonomic design and a pleasant feel, instead of the regular ones used simply to rest. Shelves finally excite with their unpredictability—the Molteni & C’s 505 Wall Unit is a carrier shoulder system with an extensive range of modular furnishings that mixes wood, matte, and glossy lacquered finishes and glasses. Since 2002, Furnitalia has been prompting us to rethink the basics and instead, look at them the way the Italians do. “I think, for me, [Italians] in nature are really artistic, so design just comes naturally to them,” Ko says. Perhaps in our case, it is natural to be stunned by what they made possible. After all, these also serve as second chances—a chance to claim personal space that is slowly being lost to a shared city. n FURNITALIA IS LOCATED AT 30TH ST., BONIFACIO GLOBAL CITY, TAGUIG

RAISING THE BAR

The Ino bar and the Tilt armchair, both from Italian brand Giorgetti are on display at their Fort Bonifacio showroom.

SPACE DESIGN

IN CONVERSATION: EAMES DEMETRIOS Eames Demetrios—artist, filmmaker, writer, and grandson to one of the 20th century’s most influential design duos—sits down with Rogue (on an original Eames chair, of course) INTERVIEW BY MANO GONZALES PHOTOS BY EVERYWHERE WE SHOOT

Your grandparents, Charles and Ray Eames, were such huge influences in your life. Aside from the way you see and approach design, what else have you learned from them? First of all, it’s hard to know how people influence you because you’re in the middle of it. But the thing that I’m very conscious of is that I’ve always been inspired by the way they approach their work, which was to explore things and try out ideas the best way they could to see if it worked. That is something I’ve done in my own work—to push the limits of my time and resources to make something. Because you always learn when you make something. If you wait for the perfect moment to try your ideas, you can wait a long time. I also think Charles and Ray did hold themselves to very high standards of excellence but at the same time, they also weren’t afraid to make mistakes and to struggle. I’ve tried to embrace that trait. I always had an intuition that that was something I’ve learned from looking at Charles and Ray’s work, and their approach and the energy they had when I was growing up. There have been countless books written about them and their creations. How is Eames Essentials different? The idea with this book is to show that they had so many great ideas, which they expressed in different ways, and to explore how to get these ideas in front of people. A fun challenge for us was to match words and images that give the readers a different experience as they go through it. The other thing we did was in the back half of the book—you’ll see that there are end notes for each of the quotes and we really 28 D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 7-J A N U A R Y 2 0 1 8

made them extensive. We wanted a bridge between reading the quote and going online. Because these days, when you see something interesting, you immediately Google it. The point was to have the first stage happen in the book; you have this nice moment where you get to read the whole thing. On one sense it’s this simple book, you read the quotes and see the images, but then we add this extra layer where the person who gets turned on by it could dive deeper. The purpose is to create a place to make people go through ideas that aren’t necessarily related to furniture. So it’s not as though you’re studying the Eameses, but instead you become a part of the whole experience. Exactly. There are books that are more narrative and ones that have tons of pictures, but this is different. When you talk about guest-host relationship, I can tell you how that relates to chairs. But you could be running a rent-a-car company, for example, and it would help that concept of how you run your business because everyone who goes through your doors is a guest. Because these are human ideas; everyone can relate to it. The Eameses’ work has been known to push design forward, but at the same time also

“The point is if you dive into any topic in a deep way, you often reveal things that are universal.”

THE 411 ON THE 104

The Aluminium Chair EA 104 by Charles and Ray Eames is ideal for active sitting in combination with tables and offers a slightly reclined seating position.

SPACE MOTORING

follow and improve the way people live. Where is the midpoint in all of this? There’s a quote in a book where Charles was asked, “Which is more important: form or function?” And his answer was, “How can I choose between my head and my heart?” The point is that you shouldn’t choose. You have to satisfy both. They believed that when they found good solutions for the function, it would turn out to be a good aesthetic solution. An example for that is when they use old power stations and turn them into museums. Like the Musée d’Orsay in Paris. That is a great example. That building was not designed to be a museum, but there’s such integrity to the way it was designed to be a really good train station that those qualities come through and resonate with having the artworks there. The point is if you dive into any topic in a deep way, you often reveal things that are universal. That’s the thrust that Charles and Ray had in their designing journey—if you dive in and you go far, you really get some understanding, and chances are you will create something beautiful. If your only goal is to make something beautiful, you might only create something that’s good to look at, but doesn’t function. Your grandparents’ designs have been around for decades. Are there changes that have been done to original Eames pieces for improvement? Charles and Ray have always improved their designs. And today, we have been improving designs because of considerations like the environment. The glues we use today are much less toxic than the glues they used back then. Also, in the 1970s, Charles and Ray worked on chairs with plastics that eliminated the fiberglass. They always wanted to improve the way things were made.

ACCELERATION FORMULA Find higher quality and even greater presence for the new BMW 3 Series

BMW IS INTRODUCING new features on the ultimate driver’s car that combine driving pleasure unique in the premium midrange segment with the distinctly athletic BMW 320d M Sport and sophisticated BMW 318d Luxury. Fêted as an icon for 40 years, the BMW Series is considered to be the founder of the modern sports sedan segment. Over what is now six model generations, the BMW 3 Series has set the standard for dynamic excellence, efficiency, and design, forging an emotionally rich connection between a sporting driving experience and unbeatable everyday practicality, making this series the most successful in the BMW brand’s line-up. The eye-catching looks of the BMW 3 Series imbue it with a striking presence on the road. The distinct structure of the car creates extremely dynamic proportions. Precisely designed headlights further emphasize the line’s credentials, while the powerful rear end, complete with new lighting design, underlines their sporting appearance to excellent effect. Both models are equipped with 18-inch light alloy wheels, while the BMW 320d M Sport comes with an M Sport Brake Package

and BMW Adaptive M Suspension System as standard equipment. The interior reflects the dynamic and elegant lines of the sporty range. A driver-centric cockpit, which is a signature BMW feature, provides optimum access to all the important functions. The ergonomicallydesigned interior also has an even classier look because of the carefully arranged chrome highlights. Advanced technology ensures these sedans are a more attractive proposition than ever before, including new rear view cameras that complement the sensors that measure distances between the vehicle and nearby obstacles, giving the driver visual and audio guidance for a perfect parking job. The variant also includes the Comfort Access System, which remotely senses the unique BMW key wherever the driver happens to be carrying it—in the jacket pocket, handbag, or briefcase—to unlock the vehicle with a simple touch on the door handle. n

The BMW 3 Series can be found at BMW, 2324 Pasong Tamo Extension, Makati. Learn more via bmw.com.ph

What do you think about knockoff pieces? For me, the only thing that can make things cheaper is to make them worse. Although it’s not up to me or anyone else to decide what you can afford, because everybody makes choices and everyone has limitations. The point is, if you think the Eames chairs are expensive, then buy an authentic chair by somebody else. Support a local designer. What is your favorite Eames chair? I would say the EA 104. In a way it’s almost anonymous and yet distinctive. It has this quality of making things that they figured out in advance. You are in an industry that revolves around how people live. What, to you, is good living? Living in one’s space is the ability to have a certain level of comfort and access to the things that have special meaning to you, whether they’re books, or artworks, or even the dining room table where you eat. Just to have those things in an environment that reinforces the best parts of your life, or helps you go through the toughest parts of it. n VITRA FURNITURE IS AVAILABLE AT CWC INTERIORS PHILIPPINES, W GLOBAL CENTER, 30TH STREET COR. 9TH AVE., BONIFACIO GLOBAL CITY, TAGUIG; CWC.COM.PH

D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 7-J A N U A R Y 2 0 1 8

DECEMBER 2017-JANUARY 2018

T H E

R O G U E

A R E N A

Promotions and relevant items, direct from our partners

Tech Support The duo behind HEX draws from 20 years of experience in art, music, and fashion to design sleek tech bags and accessories FROM THE LATE 80s up till the 90s, Dan Maravilla and Trent

Valladares were known for incorporating art installations into their concerts, offering a total sensory experience. Keen on following their own tempo, they also repurposed materials and created their own clothing and accessories. In their post-music and art years, the duo went on to work for world-renowned fashion labels and launch their own successful brands. Drawing from over 20 years of experience in the fashion industry, the pair introduced HEX in 2010. Their latest line, the Annex Collection, features bags clad in variegated gray fabric paired with a steel gray-coated canvas trim and navy

lining. Web straps and nickel hardware details add to the pieces’ clean and sleek aesthetic. Inside, the gadget pockets are lined with faux fur. The brand combines the co-founders’ eye for beauty and love for technology, designing pieces that provide ample device storage without sacrificing personal style. HEX caters to the individual who leads a hip, fast-paced, and tech-driven lifestyle, one who isn’t ready to give up function for fashion or the other way around. —GELO DIONORA Hex is available at Bratpack, Greenbelt 5, Ayala Center, Makati; 728-4028; shophex.com

December 2017-January 2018

Edited by

MANO GONZALES

THE EYE

Issue

116

FA S H I O N + S T Y L E + G R O O M I N G

PHOTOGRAPHY BY KOJI ARBOLEDA

This month, Rogue teams up with Kapwa Studio and shows you what to do with your hair, no matter how much you have on your head, in time for 2018

02 The Shape of Things

03 Fine Line

04 Flyboys

SAM POTENCIANO

MANO GONZALES

J A C S S A M P AYA N

Le Gramme’s ethically-produced line precious metal accessories sets itself apart through ‘an absence of design’

FINO collaborates with seven distinguished men for their new collection

Nike had folks scale the side of a building to launch the new VaporMax

HOW TO HAVE IT Maintenance is one to two weeks. This is the ultimate wash and wear style but to maintain the length and art design, see your barber often. A little bit of gel or mousse if needed if you choose to have longer hair on top. WHO CAN WEAR THIS Those who are confident to wear their hair short and to try designs. Anyone can wear a similar style with variations for the individualâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s face and head shape. STYLIST TIP Shampoo twice a week, always condition.

LONG LAYERED CUT HOW TO HAVE IT If your hair is straight, wavy or curly, keep it natural. Maintenance is about every three months to keep hair free of dry/ split ends. Use hair oil or serum to keep ends smooth. A little bit of sea salt spray for that beachy look. WHO CAN WEAR THIS Those with long hair! You can wear it down or tie it up. This cut will help give straight hair some texture, define your waves, or pop out the curls. A layered cut gives long hair a shape and keeps it feeling light. STYLIST TIP For extra long hair, make sure to condition the ends well.

STYLIST MICHAEL IBISATE

MODELS PATRICK PATAWARAN AND SANTINO ROSALES FROM PMAP, ELYS LIM, KEVIN CANTOS

BUZZCUT WITH A HIGH LOW FADE

DROP FADE POMPADOUR HOW TO HAVE IT Maintenance is every two weeks to keep the sides and back of the fade looking clean. A blow dryer and brush are needed to give this look some shape. A strong wax or gel can be used especially if you have thick hair. WHO CAN WEAR THIS Those who like the classic look, but want a modern twist. Anyone can wear this with variations for styling the top and there are so many choices for fades. STYLIST TIP Blowdry with a vent brush, and use your hands with product in it to shape and finish.

HAIR KAPWA STUDIO, 5059A, P BURGOS, POBLACION, MAKATI%%%GROOMING SLO LOPEZ

TEXTURIZED LAYERS HOW TO HAVE IT Layers help remove the weight and heaviness in the hair. A texturizing technique is used to define curls and make them easier to style. Use curl serum or hair oil to control frizz and define curls. Maintenance is six to eight weeks. WHO CAN WEAR THIS Those who like a soft looking style. Maybe they just woke up like that or they are wearing their look like they donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t care. STYLIST TIP A wash and go style starts with a proper shampoo and conditioner. Choose one for your hair and scalp needs.

STYLIST LESLIE EPSINOSA

THE EYE STYLE

THE SHAPE OF THINGS Le Gramme’s ethically-produced line of precious metal accessories sets itself apart through an ‘absence of design’ INTERVIEW BY SAM POTENCIANO!PHOTOS BY RALPH MENDOZA

EXISTING IN THE space between craftsmanship and industrial design, Paris-based jeweler Le Gramme is quietly redefining the concept of men’s accessories with their radically simple recycled silver cuffs. Co-owner Erwan Le Louër talks about his unique vision of ethical, minimalist luxury.

How do you perceive Filipino men and their relationship with accessories? For us, Asian men in general are much more involved in fashion than Europeans. They aren’t afraid to be very street or edgy; that’s why the Asian market is so unique. Japanese men, for example, are very keen on accessories and possess a sensibility toward details and craftsmanship. Korea is very quick and brand-oriented—almost Latin. What I see with our Filipino friends is that they have a great understanding and appreciation for design and architecture, which suits Le Gramme since we are very detail-oriented. Tell us about your central design philosophy. For us, everything is in the details because we’re working with a very obvious, elementary shape: a ribbon of 925 sterling silver in the form of a cuff. Because the shape is so common, what was interesting for us was to take this basic form and find a way to design it differently. As designers, where did this particular point-of-view stem from? I have a master’s degree in Industrial Design, while my partner Adrien Messié is an architect who worked under the interior designer Andrée Putman. I also used to manage fine jewelry 34 D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 7-J A N U A R Y 2 0 1 8

for Margiela before developing my first jewelry line called JEM, which was made entirely from ethical gold. When Adrien and I met, we decided to work together because we had the same tastes, particularly regarding lines and the minimalist aesthetic. It’s a bit radical, but for us, we were attracted to an absence of design. Our inspiration comes from a lot of different worlds—from art, like the work of Agnes Martin, to architecture, such as the work of John Pawson, very minimal yet radical. Your industrial backgrounds play a significant role in your approach, such as the way each piece is named after its base material’s weight in grams. Yes, from the way each piece is engraved and displayed down to the production process. Le Gramme sits somewhere in between craftsmanship and the industrial world, which is so different from the way other jewelry on the market is made. Because there are so many architectural details involved, it asks us to be incredibly precise. Do you find that your brand appeals to a particularly niche customer? That’s the thing about our products—because they’re so minimal and the shape is so simple, they become universal, no matter what your personal style is. In Paris, for example, we saw our products on so many different men, from tattooed guys to tailored guys, lawyers to rockers. With Le Gramme, the idea is to mix and stack the widths and textures to create your own accumulation. It’s about creating your own style and adapting the product to the way that you would want to wear it. It became a big playground for us when we understood that, using this basic shape, you could create your own style. n LE GRAMME IS AVAILABLE AT UNIVERS D’HOMME ET FEMME, EAST TOWER, ONE ROCKWELL, MAKATI

THE EYE STYLE

FINE LINE FINO collaborates with men from various fields to produce an equally multi-faceted collection WORDS BY MANO GONZALES

OVER THE COURSE of nearly three decades, FINO has created several collections that follow traditional methods yet embrace the future of design. Starting in the early 90s, “The Business Line” featured the original envelope folios, leather jotters, agendas, and briefcases that solidified the company’s association with leather, leading toward what we know as FINO Leatherware today. This year, the brand launches a new collection: “HIStory,” the Men’s Line. Here, FINO honors their roots while embracing the needs of the modern Filipino. Seven men collaborated with them to create a selection of bags that corresponds to their respective lifestyles, including Bambike founder Bryan McClelland and interior designer Eric Paras. “I designed the bag to have several compartments so that everything has a place: tech stuff like my gadgets, chargers, and cables; personal items like my glasses, grooming products, and checkbook; and things for work, like folders,” says restaurateur Elbert Cuenca. “I also made sure to include an outside pocket, which is useful when you travel—that’s where your passport and boarding pass go. Plus a trolley sleeve, which you can easily slide over your hand-carry luggage.” Through this, each man gave FINO a glimpse at the inner workings of their minds. The result is a collection that showcases intelligently designed pieces with a perfect mix of function and form, meticulously produced with and for the well-established and discerning guy. n

1 CARLO OPLE Vice President of Digital Strategy and Disruptive Business, PLDT “The bag I envisioned was built to carry your everyday items in a purposeful and stylish way,” Ople says.

2 ERIC PARAS Interior Designer Paras kept fashion and function in mind for this simple utilitarian tote that can hold documents along with a detachable clutch. 3 BRYAN MCCLELLAND Founder, Bambike Revolution Cycles McClelland’s leather messenger bag has enough compartments to carry essentials that are perfect for the adventurous commuter.

4 MONCHET OLIVES Creative and Marketing Director, Casa Mercedes A fan of fans, Olives designed a stylish twotoned leather clutch to compartmentalize your belongings, and it’s got a fan pocket on the outside, too.

5 ELBERT CUENCA Restaurateur Cuenca’s design is reminiscent of a vintage race car, a reflection of his love for racing. 6 RAUL ONA Advertising Director and Motorcycle Rider Ona, an awarded advertising director and motorcycist, loves adventure. His design is multipurpose, light, and easy, but also big enough to hold everything you need. 7 ROBERT GOCO Chef, Director for Research and Development, Cyma Greek Taverna, Green Pastures, and Souv Goco’s day is filled with trips to the market, kitchen runs, and back-to-back meetings. His backpack-slash-sling bag is easy to carry and perfect for work and play.

36 D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 7-J A N U A R Y 2 0 1 8

FINO IS AT GLORIETTA III, AYALA CENTER, MAKATI, 892-4807, 893-1828, FINOLEATHERWARE.COM

THE EYE STYLE

FLYBOYS Nike had folks scale the side of a building to launch the new VaporMax INTERVIEW BY JACS T. SAMPAYAN PHOTO BY BENJAMIN VON WONG

“WHAT WOULD YOU do if you could walk on

air?” That was the simple question posed by Nike to Benjamin Von Wong. It was attached to a pair of Nike Air VaporMax as a challenge to the international photographer, who has become known for combining social causes (from climate change to animal preservation) with hyperrealist gumption. “My first thought was, ‘Oh my God, yes! Nike!’ I love the brand and how much they truly embody the spirit of hard work and motivation,” he says. “The sugar on top is their genuine desire to bring sports to the underprivileged.” His concept was to have everyday people try to defy gravity at 1,000 feet up on the side of a building, or more particularly, a tenement. All of his models were social entrepreneurs—Krizanne Ty and Nikka Arcilla of Girls Got Game, rapper, host and Picnic Games creator Mike Swift, Nike+Run

coach Ian Banzon, and Bambike pioneer Bryan McClelland. Here, the 31-year-old talks about what it feels like to be the guy with all the crazy ideas. How did you get into photography? A girl broke up with me while I was working in a mine in Winnemucca, Nevada in November 2007. I felt that if I didn’t pick up a hobby or something to do, I’d go crazy. The stars were pretty, so I thought to myself: why not take photographs of the stars? How does your background in engineering inform your instincts as a photographer? It gives me a very strong problem-solving approach in my photography. I don’t just think up the idea, but also try to walk through the process of what the execution would look like. What was the thought process for this project? The entire concept behind the VaporMax is to walk on air. A person just running on nothingness is a little goofy, so the next best thing was to simply reimagine what the world would be like if gravity went another direction. How did your subjects feel when you described the idea to them? The reactions varied—nervous, excited, nervous and excited. For those who were a

MIGHT AS WELL JUMP

Bryan McClelland soars with one of his bikes.

little more scared of heights, I think the first move over the edge was really the hardest. But it’s sort of like skydiving—suddenly, there’s no more plane to hold onto. How would you describe your aesthetic? I think hyperrealistic is the best description for it. It’s so crazy that people think it’s fake, yet it also has a sense of intense presence and reality. I hope to generate intrigue and conversation with my work. What is your most random source of inspiration? Unicorns. They’re most advanced, yet acceptable—what I strive for in my work. Who’s someone you would’ve loved to be a part of this shoot? I would have loved to have Phil Knight on set! I wonder what he would have made of it? What do you want the viewer to think when seeing these photos? Is it real? It can’t be. Really? n For more on Benjamin Von Wong and his work, visit vonwong.com. The Nike Air VaporMax is available at Nike stores, including Glorietta 4 and Bonifacio High Street; nike.com

D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 7-J A N U A R Y 2 0 1 8

THE NE I G H B O R H O O D. P H

SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF THESE.

December 2017-January 2018

Edited by

JEROME GOMEZ

THE SLANT

Issue

116

OPINIONS + IDEAS + PERSPECTIVES

Raising Hope

AUDREY N. CARPIO With revelations of sexual abuse coming out from almost every industry, a mother of two boys wonders how she can raise her sons to be better men

Parks and Recreation

PHILBERT DY The potential of food parks was as high as the demand for them, but after an underwhelming year, can these trendy joints still satisfy our hunger?

Star is Reborn

KRIZ GAZMEN With the way people consume movies today, and this yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s game-changing disruptors like Kita-Kita, making movies in the Philippines has reached a turning point. A Star Cinema insider makes an assessment. ART BY MAGS OCAMPO

Audrey N. Carpio

on the continuing fight against sexual abuse

RAISING HOPE In a year full of revelations and allegations of sexual abuse, a mother of two young boys asks how to raise sons to be real men of tomorrow

WHEN I FOUND out I was having twin boys, my first thought was: I can’t let them become rapists. It was, and still is, a real concern. How do you raise boys not to be predators, harassers, or any sort of the bad men who’ve come to have their day of reckoning in the media lately? I already had a daughter, and that was much easier. I keep telling her that girls are superior, because as she grows up, society will gradually try and dissuade her of that notion, so the best we can hope for is settling on a level of same-sameness. OK, boys are just as good. But now that I have boys of my own, I need a new strategy. There are many helpful articles, written by noted feminists, on how to raise a feminist son. Let him cry, they say. Let him wear pink if he wants to (right now my sons have no choice; they get a lot of hand-medowns from their sister). Teach him how to take care of others. “It’s like the problem in the world today is we love our boys and we raise our girls,” Michelle Obama said. “Are we protecting our men too much so that they feel a little entitled and a little, you know, self-righteous sometimes?” We’ve all been trying to get to the bottom of questions like: how have men like Harvey Weinstein been allowed to entrap and attack women for so long? The revered conductor James Levine was only recently suspended from the Metropolitan Opera after decades-old accusations of sexual abuse with young musicians resurfaced, yet the whole classical music world had been privy to his “proclivities.” In quick succession, actors, journalists, and TV hosts have been stripped of their titles for behavior that ranged from inappropriate to wildly disgusting, activities which they were already well-known for. It took a perfect 2017 storm of social media fury, a viral hashtag, and victim empowerment to finally take these guys down (for how long remains to be seen—Hollywood always loves a good redemption story).

40 O C T O B E R 2 0 1 7

Art is undeniably enriched by the entire spectrum of the human experience, but consumers have to draw the line at criminal behavior.

Then there’s the never-ending debate about what to do with the art of monsters. Do we separate the work from the auteur? Or do we condemn them all wholesale, because we shouldn’t be financially or culturally supporting someone who does terrible things? I think that if the work is from the past, and the artist is long dead, let it be—it’s part of history and there’s no point in trying to erase something that has brought meaning and joy to many generations. If it’s current work, however, by all means, take it down. The work represents a continuing oppression of the abuser’s victims. This frees up space for other stories to be told, other voices to be heard. We honestly do not need another film that explores in length an old man’s pervy predilection for underage girls. Art is undeniably enriched by the entire spectrum

of the human experience, but consumers have to draw the line at criminal behavior. Closer to home, celebrities like Vic Sotto and Vhong Navarro have been linked to incidences of sexual harrasment. They are just two examples that have reached some form of litigation. A lot don’t. The casting couch phenomenon is not exclusive to Hollywood; we all know someone who knows someone in the industry who has fondled male models or exploited starlets in what amounts to a prostitution ring. These kinds of stories have sadly become insider jokes, and remain the status quo. Recently, a young woman named Judy came forward alleging that the artist Gaston Damag molested her while she was sleeping. Prominent men, even women from the art community whom you thought would be woke allies, came to his defense, calling Judy a liar and an extortionist. In an American study done over 10 years, it was found that only between two and 10 percent of rape allegations were false, proving that women rarely “cry rape” for revenge or malicious purposes. Yet it has been the prevailing instinct to doubt the accuser and even blame the victim for the fate that has befallen her. It is still harder to believe a woman’s painful revelation over the pathetic excuses of men (“we were drunk,” “she didn’t say no,” “it was only a few minutes of action”), and for some crazy reason, people are more concerned about the welfare of the perpetrator, as in the case of Brock Turner and his judge.

While we would like to think our local scene hasn’t reached the levels of toxic masculinity as what we’re witnessing in Hollywood and Washington, we know that’s not true. In the art scene alone, I’ve heard many stories about very young women who were propositioned, harassed, or manipulated by their mentors, curators, or someone older and in a position of power, and I don’t doubt the same happens in the music, advertising, and literary industries. We won’t be seeing an avalanche of #MeToo casualties, however. Men will band together to defend their privilege. Women victims here often feel shamed into silence, having grown up in a patriarchal, religious culture

where women are expected to behave modestly and are essentially held responsible for whatever happens to them. Those who do speak out can expect to be buried by the backlash. Hannah Paasch, the woman behind the #ChurchToo hashtag, writes about how the evangelical church has failed women, and the same could be said of Filipino culture: “The deep cognitive dissonance of purity culture demands that women trust men as leaders, protectors, and providers while blaming ourselves when our boundaries are inevitably crossed.” In hundreds of heartbreaking tweets from female churchgoers, not one time has the male abuser been held to blame; he is

often even praised for the bravery in confessing his sins. Here, a woman might get pregnant out of wedlock, or get pregnant for the fifth, sixth, seventh time, or get taken advantage of by male colleagues—and it’s all on her (“Naka-shorts ka ‘no?” as Tito Sotto’s Eat Bulaga co-host Jose Manalo would say). So yes, I worry about raising boys in a culture deeply rooted in misogyny. I’m concerned about them growing up in a system that rewards traditionally masculine behavior. The public purge that is happening now could be a start to the end, and though we can’t change the attitudes of every single creepy dude out there, we can start with the next generation. n

Philbert Dy

on the disappointing sameness of food parks

PARKS AND RECREATION The year saw a feverish sprouting of food parks, many of which are unfortunately content with offering customers more of the same ART BY MAGS OCAMPO

WHEN THIS WHOLE food park thing started,

it felt exciting. The very idea seemed to open up all manner of possibilities for eating in the city. The promise inherent to the concept is this: a lower barrier of entry for potential new food vendors means that the parks could be a space to discover different kinds of innovative cuisine. In theory, they’d be incubators for the future of Manila eating, allowing chefs both professional and amateur an equitable, low-risk, low-pressure space to test out their brewing culinary ideas. It sounds lofty in retrospect, but the owners of all these food parks, typically younger folk who use words like “disrupt” and “revolution,” would speak in these lofty terms. Perhaps it was always silly to expect these outdoor spaces to be the utopian ideal for food development, to hope that every trip to one of these parks would yield some sort of amazing new culinary experience. On the other hand, it seems completely reasonable that these spaces at least differentiate themselves from each other, that the multitude would result in greater variety. What’s been really disappointing is that every new one seems determined to follow an imagined formula of what makes a food park

successful, assembling all of the same parts over and over again. They seem to be built from the ground up expecting to offer only the same kind of things that are already being served in the dozens of food parks now dotting Metro Manila. They call out for vendors on the internet and on tarps outside their locations, and often list what kind of food they’re looking for. It gets pretty specific: they want, among other things, a place that serves pork belly, one that serves a burger of some sort, a brick oven pizza place, some kind of Japanese concept, a Mexican place, and a seafood joint. Right from the outset, the impetus isn’t to create something new; it’s only to replicate the success of what has already come before. There is so little variation to the formula that over the last year, some of the same vendors show up in multiple food parks. What at first felt like a completely organic and independent movement in the food scene just ended up giving rise to new franchises, creating the unneeded guarantee that wherever you might end up, you’ll always be able to find a battered and fried giant squid. There isn’t even a lot of variation in their

What at first felt like a completely organic and independent movement in the food scene just ended up giving rise to new franchises. aesthetics. The container van has become one of the most common sights in Quezon City, where the food park boom is really concentrated. Some of these places have some sort of theme, but it’s all just window dressing on the same structural bones of stacked metal and wooden tables. It just seems like bad business. In adhering to the

OCTOBER 2017

same formulas, in being either unwilling or incapable of creating singular experiences for their customers, there are few compelling reasons to go to one food park over another. There’s barely a compelling reason to visit any food park at all. All you’re really getting are burgers in a more uncomfortable setting. There is evidence to suggest that the approach isn’t working—plenty of food parks have already closed down, or seem to be on the verge of closing. The crowds seem to be dwindling, the initial curiosity undone by the crushing certainty of sameness. There are outliers, of course. Food Hive on Visayas Avenue has a stall that only serves goat meat, and that’s across a vendor that sells Balkan food and a nitrogen ice cream joint that forgoes the typical flavors and goes straight for weirder things like sampaguita and gin pomelo. It feels like, as a whole, that place is more willing to take risks, and a trip tends to yield something uniquely satisfying. Not everything is great, but even the failures tend to be interesting. And one must give credit to the people willing to put these stranger concepts out there. But that is the exception and not the rule. The new developments in the food park craze seem to be built around everything but the food. The latest addition to Quezon City’s endless parade of informal food spaces is The Yard Streetfood Cinema on Timog Avenue, right beside the MTRCB building. Their vendors take on intellectual property-defying movie themes for their stalls, and still pretty much end up serving the same food as every other place—the same lineup of ribs, chicken, pork belly, fried squid, and aquarium drinks that may as well be declared the city’s official cuisine. What makes it different is that they screen movies there, with a projector setup casting images on a blank wall. While the intentions are noble, it really isn’t much more than a poorly executed gimmick, and only serves to highlight how these parks seem to have gotten away from thinking about the food. And we apparently haven’t reached the satiation point for food parks just yet. On Maginhawa, a tarp announces a new food hall looking for vendors, despite the fact that there are already three big food parks on the same road, and three more on the intersecting Malingap Street. On Tomas Morato lies the future site of a food park run by the Fruitas corporation, just a stone’s throw away from Savour Manila, which hasn’t even been able to fill up all of its vendor spaces. On Anonas, a failed food park announces that it is under new management, and is looking for new vendors. Somehow, the trend carries on, even though it feels like we’ve hit some sort of limit. And the new places don’t seem eager to learn lessons from their predecessors, going about things the same way yet again, adding even more sameness to the food landscape. n

42 O C T O B E R 2 0 1 7

Kriz Gazmen on the year in film

STAR IS REBORN The country’s biggest movie studio is known to look very closely at its bottomline, but the reality of making movies in 2017 has strengthened Star Cinema’s resolve to keep its eyes and ears attuned to its audience

NO ONE FROM the film industry will tell you making films is easy. You know the stories: sleepless nights, terrifying directors, actors with unbelievable demands, countless tubs of blood, sweat, and tears, all for the pursuit of a common passion. But 2017 has proven that the torture of filmmaking isn’t exclusive to film creators anymore. For audiences, watching films has in itself become an arduous task. You clock out early from work to catch, say, the latest KathNiel flick. You feel tired and abused, so you think you deserve some entertainment. You step out of the office and debate whether you should risk your life and take the uncoupling-prone MRT, or waste your life stuck in EDSA traffic. Either way, there is no win. By the time you get to the cineplex, you feel like a part of you is already lost. When you see the queue at the ticket booth, you are now quite sure you’ve lost it. You see the ticket price and know you are going to sacrifice the next day’s lunch for this. But you go ahead and pay anyway, recalling the hell you went through just to get here. You hear your stomach rumble, and that tempting smell of overpriced popcorn confirms you will be on full starvation mode tomorrow. You enter the cinema and watch Derek Ramsay step on a tomato, and as soon as you see Daniel Padilla on the screen, looking at you as if you were Kathryn Bernardo, you forget the trauma you just went through. Such that when the next John Lloyd-Bea comes out, you know you will gladly go through it all over again. But really, given that it requires so much effort, why do we still watch movies? Some of us do it for a few good laughs, and to forget— for a moment—all of the day’s problems. Some of us may be going through a bad breakup, and crying with the characters onscreen allow for some sort of catharsis.

Whatever your reason is, a film should always deliver on its promise of a memorable emotional experience. This differentiates good films from great films. Good films make you want to applaud the filmmakers once their names start rolling in the closing credits. Great films stay with you and leave a remarkable impact in your life, even years after. Moviegoers rarely settle for good anymore, since TV or an online stream can give you something good, too. A typical Filipino moviegoer shells out P250 and a piece of their sanity, not because they want to casually see some random moving images in 2K projection, but because they want to have a deep, emotional connection with the people on the screen. They want to talk about it days later and still get caught up in its magic. Hence, the new industry term “chikability”: the film must be something you would enthusiastically discuss, whether it be with your college barkada, over family dinner, or during an office smoking break. This year has proven that our audiences require nothing short of quality entertainment. Star Cinema’s highestgrossing movies this year—the romantic comedies My Ex and Whys, Can’t Help Falling in Love, and Finally Found Someone, plus the family dramedy Seven Sundays—are all testaments to how Filipino moviegoers still favor classic storytelling, kilig love teams, romance-driven plots, and family-centric stories. But the unprecedented success of Kita Kita, written and directed by indie darling Sig Bernardo, is a victory for the film industry in general. It taught us that while our audiences still want their staples, they are beginning to crave new experiences. Kita Kita showed us that films can work, even if they are not love team-driven, even if they are not produced by a major studio, even if they are not top billed by premium

When we say our mission is to be in the service of the Filipino worldwide, who is the Filipino we are serving? stars, even if they are not directed by veteran directors, as long as they are sincere and honest films that make a lasting emotional impact on viewers. Given that Star Cinema is a major studio that produces films with budgets that require impossible break-evens, we have always been very cautious and selective with the movies we produce. And this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. We are proud mothers to classics such as Anak, Tanging Yaman, Got 2 Believe, and One More Chance. They were all critical and box office successes because they reached out to the core of every Filipino family. They were

the stories of your parents, your friends. They may even be your personal stories. But in recent years, we have found ourselves in a constant discussion and debate. When we say our mission is to be in the service of the Filipino worldwide, who is the Filipino we are serving? Has our service been exclusive to markets that have become familiar to us? What about the Filipino millennial who has grown tired of watching the same fairy tale love stories and wants a more intimate, realistic portrayal of a love that can never be? What about the guy who has darker tastes, and wants to live that

darkness vicariously through a suspense film? What about the millions of Filipinos who just want to see something new? Aren’t they also Filipinos that we are to be in the service of? This is why what is more important to us now is content diversity, in the recognition that our audiences are now sophisticated enough to appreciate various forms of genres and storytelling. In the past years, we have distributed That Thing Called Tadhana directed by Antoinette Jadaone, produced Always Be My Maybe and How to Be Yours, both directed by Dan Villegas, Ex with Benefits directed by Gino Santos, and the MMFF 2016 entry Vince and Kath and James helmed by Theodore Boborol. They were all fresh takes on the romance genre and very well-received, which motivated us to listen more to these groundbreaking voices. In 2017, we worked with another talented director from the indie scene, Prime Cruz, with Can We Still Be Friends? We believed in Jadaone’s concept of aliens, cancer, and young love and gave her full support in Love You to the Stars and Back, which became one of the highest-grossing films of this year. We produced the controversial film Last Night, directed by Joyce Bernal and written by Bela Padilla, because we fell in love with its realityflipping mood piece of a story. It is high time to be on the lookout for these new creators because, let’s admit it, the competition doesn’t happen within our local film industry anymore. Netflix, iFlix, Hooq, and other online streaming services now take a significant share of our moviegoers’ attention. Add to that the worldwide craze for Koreanovelas which can readily be consumed in the comfort of one’s own couch, with chips and soda in hand that cost so much less than when bought in the theaters. These recent developments have taught us that the only way to ride the competition is to put our faith in the genius of our local artists. Just watch an independent film festival and you will be in awe of how talented our young directors and writers are. Most of them have a shopping list of ideas and concepts they would like to produce, but no means to do so. There is nothing more tragic than wasted talent. We believe our calling as a film company is to bridge that gap—to allow these new filmmakers to make their dream films a reality, without having to cut off their limbs just to finance them. I dream of a future where our film industry doesn’t have to put a distinction between mainstream and indie. Where films are appreciated for what they are and not how they were made. Where veteran directors and newer voices have equal chances of getting their dream films produced. Where we don’t look down on audiences who appreciate popular content, nor vilify those who want edgier fare by tagging them as elitist snobs. We may be miles away from this ideal future, but being conscious enough as a company to start taking baby steps this year, I believe, isn’t a bad start. n

OCTOBER 2017

IN WITH PHOTOGRAPHED BY PATRICK DIOKNO!STYLED BY MANO GONZALES

For Erich Gonzales, the only way to thrive in the local showbiz industry is to choose not to settle. With the upcoming release of the film Siargao, Emil HofileĂąa finds her branching out into the next chapter of her career, one that could capture who she really is

THE NEW

FLOAT SWIM ELENA BIKINI TOP, ROB ORTEGA BLACK SEQUINED GOWN, NAMI JEWELRY, CHRISTIAN LOUBOUTIN PUMPS OPPOSITE: FLOAT SWIM ALESSANDRA MAILLOT, ESME PALAGANAS SKIRT PREVIOUS: ESME PALAGANAS BALL SKIRT, NAMI JEWELRY

After making it into local showbiz at the age of 14, she landed her first lead role at 19, and became part of a love team with Enchong Dee for several movies and television dramas. She’s played an aswang, an aswang hunter, and a half-snake monster. She faced poverty and homelessness before any of this even happened. The actress has been through enough to know what choices to make. Erich’s career could easily be reduced into a list of projects, roles, and release dates, an objective collection of all of her choices so far. But she asserts that her journey as a whole has been guided by one conscious decision that she makes every day: not to settle. “I believe it’s crucial not to get used to the environment, but rather to constantly learn and get better at thriving in the environment,” she says. On the surface, it’s a concise, conservative answer, one that won’t give the tabloids any ammunition to be used against her. But it’s also a thinly veiled acknowledgment of the nature of the industry she has grown up in. It’s volatile, unforgiving, and probably not the ideal situation to find oneself in while coming of age. Now 27 years old, the actress is lucky to have learned this early. Erich chooses her words carefully, speaking clearly and staying alert, only occasionally biting her fingernails or piercing the air with an exclamation point of laughter. The cynic might choose to lump her in with all the other network staple stars, accusing her of playing the part of celebrity even during interviews, but her poise and politeness come across like a second skin. It is a necessary defense against the occupational hazards of being famous. “Growing up in the industry catapults you into understanding what it takes to be a professional,” she explains. “Regardless of age, you’re held to rules and standards that come with the job.” They’re the kind of rules designed to keep both actor and parent network safe, undoubtedly helpful for a starlet without a solid foothold in the business. But as Erich approaches the next stages of her career, her desire to break away from the mold has only gotten stronger. Enter the Paul Soriano-directed drama Siargao, one of eight films to be screened nationwide as part of the 2017 edition of the Metro Manila Film Festival (MMFF). Set in the titular eastern island and surfing hotspot, it explores the relationship between three individuals played by Erich, Jericho Rosales, and Jasmine Curtis-Smith. Though classified as a romance, Siargao seems to be cut from a completely different cloth from that of Erich’s love team days. In more ways than one, this project is a risk. There’s the physical risk, of course. In order to play her character Laura, Erich had to train for a month with professional surfers. It is a demanding task made more difficult by one small problem. “Truth

be told, it was terrifying because I don’t know how to swim,” she admits, before adding, “It felt rewarding to do something I was afraid of doing.” Then there’s the idea of taking on another romance, but without the benefit of being part of an established pairing. Erich doesn’t consider this perceived risk to be a problem. To her, the process has always been the same. Contrary to how some viewers stereotype the Filipino teleserye as cheesy and manufactured, Erich maintains there isn’t much of a difference between the kind of romance portrayed by love teams and those depicted in smaller films like Siargao. “What I’ve learned from being in a love team is that romance and chemistry cannot be saccharine,” she states. “You need to find a way to express authentic emotions.” Most importantly, however, Siargao represents something of a business risk. Like in most installments of the MMFF in the past 10 years, independently produced entries will always be in danger of getting booted out of theaters before the conclusion of the festival’s two-week run. This year, Siargao is going up against movies from MMFF staples Vice Ganda, Vic Sotto, and Coco Martin, among others. Even with the film’s star power, it doesn’t have the kind of machinery behind it to become a clear box office threat to the festival’s heavy- hitters. So it’s refreshing to know that none of this matters to Erich, who simply believes in the material for reasons that have nothing to do with romance. “The vibe is different. It’s different from other projects I’ve done in a sense that the style and language is more current and realistic,” she explains. “It’s not your run-of-the-mill fairy tale or dark alternative world, but a human journey.” This particular project came to her at a time when she seemed to need it most: closing in on her 30s, too old to get away with teenage love stories, too young to figure out exactly what the rest of her path should look like. For the actress, Siargao has come to represent a sort of moving on from her own personal crossroads. “Laura felt authentic to my experience of self-discovery and self-love. I wanted to go on that journey with her. It was almost like Laura and I could compare scars.” One could reduce Erich’s career to a list of projects and a series of gossipy headlines involving her co-stars, directors, and a bizarre billboard proposal. But if she’s learned anything from her experience on Siargao—physically drained, scared of jumping back into the water—it’s that the things that threaten to drown you are only ever waves in the ocean. “Learn to ride the waves you’re given,” she advises. “Even if you wash ashore, you can always get back up and try again.” n

NAMI JEWELRY, TROUSERS, STYLIST ’S OWN

ERICH GONZALES KNOWS WHAT SHE’S GETTING HERSELF INTO.

BANGGO NIU JUMPSUIT, NAMI JEWELRY OPPOSITE, BOTTOM: ESME PALAGANAS OFF SHOULDER DRESS, NAMI JEWELRY

Makeup by JIGS MAYUGA Hair by JOHN VALLE Stylist Assisted by MAGS OCAMPO AND PIA SAMSON

ENTER THE OI V

O O

O O O O

In Metro Manilaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s constantly changing

landscape, one small bar in Quezon

City has managed to endure, serving

as a sanctuary to artists, filmmakers,

musicians, and troublemakers.

Kara Ortiga speaks with the owners to

try and understand the continuing appeal

of the cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s most revered hole-in-the-wall

n a busy and relatively overlooked swath of Broadway Avenue in Quezon City, on the outskirts of the markedly residential New Manila, a small bar remains standing. It is 18 years into its life, an anomaly of legacy and history in a rapidly growing area. It doesn’t even have a sign. It’s never tried to announce its presence to the outside world in its nearly 20 years of operation. Yet the narrow two-story structure, which looks more like an ordinary house than the legend that it is, continues to bring in its regulars. Even on an early Tuesday night, the first floor fills with bargoers nursing their beers and basking in the sense of companionship they have established with this obscure enclave. Today, it is sandwiched between a specialty coffee shop and a creperie—but in the beginning, back in 1999, its neighbors were a sari-sari store and a bank. For nearly two decades, Big Sky Mind has been a refuge for plenty: the artists who were making art before the boom of the art market, the filmmakers who were documenting before people saw their films, the superfluous rock stars of the grunge era, the outsiders and the loners who found solace in the mayhem. On display behind the bar: bottles of alcohol infused with dead cobras, memorabilia left by customers tacked to the walls. The wooden boards of the second floor creak with every step. For furniture: chintzy cafeteria chairs and tables and musty couches, all made heavy with the history of those that have sat on them. As soon as I, a newcomer, walk through its front door, I am met with an array of curious, inquisitive faces. I can feel them wondering under their breath, “Have I seen this girl here before?” then immediately turning their gaze away. In an instant, it feels like one of those places where your business is everyone’s business—and I confirm this when almost every other person walking in through the door after me is met with a handshake, a high five, or a hug. The place has never had to announce itself to the outside world. It endures because of the mysteries within.

ARTISTIC SENSIBILITIES When the idea to put up Big Sky Mind was in the works in 1999, it was envisioned to be an art space. Artists Ringo Bunoan and Katya Guerrero teamed up with a few partners, and it was decided that Big Sky Mind would be a café/art gallery. “Nung time na ’yun, uso talaga ’yung artist-run spaces because it was a way for them to continue what they were doing in school out in the real world,” says Bunoan, who picked up the name for the bar from a book given to her by Roberto Chabet, known as the Father of Philippine Conceptual Art. Back then, the rise of these kinds of spaces was becoming evident around the city: Angono, Rizal housed Surrounded by Water, and in Quezon City there was Third Space and Inka. “The only galleries then were ’yung dun sa Megamall lang. And then you had the CCP. Very few lang naman ’yung spaces then, and mostly commercial. So we wanted to do a space that could show more

BROKEN SOCIAL SCENE

Big Sky Mind has become a cult institution where artists, punk icons, hard rockers, and outcasts are welcomed and nurtured. Previous: Lagoon, Hank Palenzuela, and Jing Garcia after getting their mohawks from Jet Melencio. Opposite, clockwise from left: Olivier Rochot and Ringo Bunoan at the opening of the Marcel Duchamp tribute exhibition; installation view of Surrounded By Water’s exhibition; crowd at the opening of Pinikpikan’s exhibition; opening night of Big Sky Mind in 1999 with Roberto Chabet’s solo exhibition; Karl Roy and Ene Lagunzad; Jun Sabayton.

ALL KILLER, NO FILLER

Like Manila’s greatest clubs before it, Big Sky Mind featured some of the greatest bands of today back when they were still finding their sound. Clockwise from left: Radioactive Sago Project; opening of Pinikpikan’s exhibition; Soundlab.

installations, more performances—and we also had other interests, hindi lang visual arts. We had a lot of friends from the film community and the music community, so there was a lot of synergy at that time. It had its own community around it, and it was a good mix,” says Bunoan. In their first show ever, the gallery housed 300 drawings by Chabet, whose works covered the entire second floor. “It wasn’t so contrived,” adds Guerrero of the type of art they chose to share. “Like sila Poklong [Anading]—that was one of the first few times they did some initiatives with video. Jun Sabayton was helping us to do the films. Sila Ernest Concepcion, may project siya dati na Documento Records.” It was a place that some of the contemporary artists of today used as a venue to experiment with their work. Big Sky Mind housed the first group show of the likes of Nona Garcia, Gary-Ross Pastrana, and Louie Cordero. Jet Melencio did a show with mirrors and gave free haircuts to the guests, so that by the end of the night, everyone was sporting a mohawk. They had light shows; they projected movies onto walls, seen from the street. Guerrero once had a show that involved two real cars wrapped in red velvet—it caused traffic because people would stop to take photos. The sound artists performed their sound lab projects. And once, there was a spontaneous noise barrage, with different artists and musicians just showing up to jam. One night it got so loud that the barangay police came to shut them up. “Parang ganun ’yung work namin, eh,” says Bunoan. “There was a sense of magic.” And most of the time, the environment played a role. “I think kasi parang part of the [trend] at that time was all these relational works involving the crowd, the audience.” The vibe was so distinct and infectious and even guilty of being a little snobby that Don Leyretana, one of the first bartenders who wasn’t a partner or an owner, shares that if you weren’t doing any kind of creative work, you would definitely feel intimidated and kind of left out. “For me, it was one of those places that [embodied] what that generation was—those places where people converged and there was a lot of energy and ideas,” says Guerrero. The downside being that most of the time, people were going there to drink as well, so sometimes it wasn’t about the art anymore. “It’s always dangerous, but I think it’s easy to subvert the art,” she observes. “There were

times when na-didisrupt ’yung art. So for me, it started dawning on me that the whole café/ gallery thing wasn’t an ideal… parang I wasn’t comfortable with it, and I felt like, baka this is not the perfect formula. It happens to places where they do these types of things. And from an artist’s perspective, if you analyze that, after a while, you get inis. I think the balance, lumampas na. Parang, ‘Huh, ano’ng nagyari?’ That’s how I felt a bit, like we needed to move on.” Bunoan adds that the other owners “wanted to do more of a mainstream bar, a commercial [type] place. And that was never our intent.” With their visions sidetracked, and the misalignment in the owners’ intentions, Bunoan and Guerrero, who were the main art curators in the group, sold their shares and called it quits.

THE COMMUNITY Cindy Malong is the other owner who couldn’t see eye-to-eye with the artists. In many of the interviews, she is described to me as astute, straight-laced—a “strange...” before being corrected to “regular person who enjoyed the cool ambience.” And even Malong herself admits that her priorities were different from the get-go. A graduate of business school, her concerns were centered, naturally, around profit. “I was more focused on the business. It didn’t work out with us I think because we weren’t friends. When it’s a business, it’s difficult if you don’t exactly know the people you are working with.” So when Bunoan and Guerrero left sometime in the early 2000s, Malong took it upon herself to continue to make Big Sky Mind work, being hands-on for 18 years: tending the bar, managing the shop, and even closing its doors every morning. Under her watch, the place grew to become a staple hangout for many. Leyretana goes as far as saying that the concept of barflies started here: solo patrons who would show up to have a drink on their own. Within its walls, many conversations were exchanged between strangers. And if they didn’t become enemies, they were most likely to have become lifelong friends. Hank Palenzuela, a musician who tended the bar on-and-off for a good 10 years starting in 2002, shares that this is where he met his current lawyer and friend: at the bar, while he was working. At first, he thought the guy was a little bit of an “asshole” until they

T T e R H H I 1 o N 0 “ ANNIvERSARy DIeT HER OCAMPO HELD HIS BIRTHDAY THERe, AND THe A R T E E Q W I U M S E N R THAT EVERy ONE COME IN CROS S -DRE SS . EVERy ONE DID, E EN

GUL ARS WHO E R DIDN’TKNoW HIM.” THE

ARTISTS’ OWN

While known for its wild nights and infamous parties, Big Sky Mind was also a place where the country’s top artists could gather for both work and pleasure. Clockwise from left: Performance by Katya Guerrero; installation view of a collaborative work by Nona Garcia and Gary Pastrana, with performers; Rica Concepcion and her kids at the opening of Pinikpikan’s exhibition (with Jaime de Guzman at the back); Lena Cobangbang with a work by Lirio Salvador; artists of the Heavy Quiet group exhibition, (top row) Alvin Zafra, Lyra Garcellano, Nona Garcia, Gary Pastrana (bottom row) Ikoy Riccio; Corinne Ching, Louie Cordero; Roberto Chabet giving a talk to young artists.

started bonding over the counter. They drank together when the guy was going through frat initiations, drank when he was inducted, drank when he passed the bar—and now the guy has a family and kids. This was that kind of place, he says, where people would come to the bar and want to divulge their life stories. He watched people celebrate their milestones, cry over the mishaps, and some even came looking for advice: “What do I do, I’m gay?” Leyretana remembers it fondly as a place where people would come to drink and the music would bring everyone together. Spotify didn’t exist yet then, so sharing albums and bringing personal CD mixes were welcome. He mentions the time Basti Artadi of Wolfgang walked in, and because he wanted so badly to impress, he ended up playing a lot of Led Zeppelin. And then there were the nights when fights broke out. “Not that many ha,” says Malong, herself quite pleasantly surprised. “Out of the 18 years that we’ve been here, siguro may mga 10 to 15 fights. It’s mostly people getting drunk.” She recalls many of them quite vividly—one time, a man pulled a girl’s hair and everyone saw it. They called the cops on him, and ended up chasing each other around the street. Orly Darnayla, who worked there from 2000 to 2009, recalls the time he took care of a “very tall white guy who got so drunk that he passed out on the pavement at the McDonald’s right across Big Sky. I felt sorry leaving him like that, so I decided to help. He was so out of it that he couldn’t remember where he lived. I had to go through his entire phone directory and call random people who might know his address. It turns out he was a friend of Karl Roy. So I got him into a cab to take him to his house. The guy came back to Big Sky a few days later and was very thankful for making sure he got home safe.” Throughout the years, some people have actually been banned, including celebrities and cocky rich boys. It isn’t a formal list, but Malong remembers. She has cast her wing over her place and its people protectively through the years, so much so that if someone was too drunk to drive home, she would allow them to spend the night. Mostly, it was the main inuman for those who lived nearby, a neighborhood joint. In fact, Karl Roy discovered the place on his bike as he was going around the area a few days after it opened. “You mean there’s 62

an actual bar a few blocks from my home?” he said, enthused. And it wasn’t just the artists who came to party—even medical students and law students would come to forget a long day. “As cool as the artists and rock ‘n’ roll people were, we also had these lawyers and doctors who would come here to study… and drink,” says Palenzuela. The former editor of Pulp magazine Vernon Go often found the subjects of his covers here. And the roster of notable visitors is stacked: the late Tado, Jun Sabayton, Ebe and Vin Dancel, Raymund Marasigan, Quark Henares, Diego Castillo, Joel Torre, Pepe Smith, Jun Lopito, Jay Taruc, Kristine Hermosa, Julia Clarete… they would all become regular faces at some point in time. On their 10th anniversary, Diether Ocampo held his birthday there, and the requirement was that everyone come in cross-dress. Everyone did, even the regulars who didn’t know him. Co-owner Shakira Villa-Symes shares that the bar went beyond just a drinking joint— through the years, it became a family when the sense of community was formed. Malong herself has been asked to be a ninang to a handful of weddings (because lovers were forged under Big Sky’s roof), and Villa-Symes was almost brought to tears remembering the togetherness that shone when a dear member of the community, Annabelle Mosh, was diagnosed with an aneurysm. They closed shop to raise funds for her.

TOMORROW KNOWS In a time when the life expectancy of a club is diminished to a few years, places like Big Sky Mind remain one of our time’s greatest mysteries. Because even without a sign, without a real knack for design, without anything really atypical to offer in their menu— it has remained, standing strong for 18 long years, a portal that has been able to preserve something very special for all kinds of people, across all ages, withstanding the volatile nature of history. Like a flame luring in a moth, they have drawn the unsuspecting in ever closer, enticing with an energy so attractive. It pulls you back, again and again and again, seducing you to the point where the situation becomes raucous, and uncertain, and familiar, until the place becomes something you can call home. n

THE WICKED AND THE DIVINE

Clockwise from left: Jarek, Mohini, and Iane at the 12th Anniversary Christmas party; Orly Darnalya and Carlo; Kevin Roy and Vin Dancel on the mic.

LATE EATS For certain people in Metro Manila, work entails staying out deep into the night, past the hours that anyone would deem reasonable. It is often in this darkness that musicians, artists, filmmakers, and chefs wander, seeking to sate the hunger that invariably comes with the work. We ask Jess Milner, Mong Alcaraz, Dex Fernandez, Josh Boutwood, and Dan Villegas to recommend their favorite late night spots, and they tell us the stories that come with them

PHOTOGRAPHED BY RENZO NAVARRO

GO! KIZIP T O M A S M O R AT O C O R . T IM O G , D IL IM A N , Q U E ZO N C I T Y Situated in no-man’s-land between the headquarters of ABS-CBN and GMA, Go! Kizip often finds itself playing host to people who are in serious need of a good time. On that roster, we’ve got everyone from directors to actors to writers to crew members. There’s a wall right by the entrance covered in photos of celebrities who’ve dropped in to get their Korean barbecue fix—don’t be surprised if you spot one or two the next table over, grilling thick slabs of steak from the restaurant’s serious range of meat. Most folks kick back at the tables outside, cracking open bottles of beer and soju in the late (or early) hours. But it won’t be long before they’re oﬀ, back to the studio. Home, if they’re lucky. —PATRICIA CHONG

“

It’s our go-to good vibes place after a bad vibes, stressful shoot. It’s got good service, and it’s one of the better 24-hour restos around the area; the perfect location for those working near ABS-CBN. And it’s the resto that convinced my mom that Korean food is awesome. She didn’t get the combination of meat and kimchi before.” DAN VILLEGAS Director

CRYING TIGER P. G UA N Z O N S T R E E T, P O B L AC I O N , M A K AT I While it is currently the cool kid’s place to be, a proper night out at the eclectic bars of Poblacion isn’t so much about getting smashed and hammered into the next morning, but finding a spot to unwind over some excellent drinks and bar grub. One such spot—blink and you’ll miss it as you walk down P. Guanzon—is Crying Tiger Street Kitchen. Much like its cousin El Chupacabra, Crying Tiger is one of the district’s breezier, laid-back digs. Only a glance at the clock will make you realize that you and your friends have been throwing back watermelon strawberry sangrias for hours. And if you weren’t drinking, you were eating your feelings: the pad see ew and the black pepper tofu have that eﬀect. —PC

“

The first time I encountered Crying Tiger was when I was on my way to Dulo. I was walking from Makati Ave. when I saw a painted blue wall from afar. I’d heard about the place, but had no idea what or where it was. So I sat and ordered my classic fave, pad thai. I was impressed by the big serving—big for me, because I have a small tummy!” DEX FERNANDEZ Visual Artist

GOTO MONSTER PA B L O O C A M P O S R . E X T E N S I O N , L A PA Z , M A K AT I Stepping out from the heat of a gig at Saguijo or BSide, you might find yourself simply going wherever your feet (or stomach) lead you in the quiet streets of Makati’s more down-to-earth neighborhoods. And for many, the last destination of the night is Goto Monster. You’ll find people camped out at the tables set up on the street any time of day or night, and they’re all here for the same thing: no frills, no-nonsense comfort food. Often, that’ll be in the form of some chicharon bulaklak, some very tender bagnet, and of course, a hot bowl of goto. But on warmer nights, many will have ice cream pops in flavors like leche flan and bibingka melting in their hands as the hours pass and the conversations flow—no rush here. —PC

Situated in no-man’s-land between the headquarters of ABS-CBN and GMA, Go! Kizip often finds itself playing host to people who are in serious need of a good time. On that roster, we’ve got everyone from directors to actors to writers to crew members. There’s a wall right by the entrance covered in photos of celebrities who’ve dropped in to get their Korean barbecue fix—don’t be surprised if you spot one or two the next table over, grilling thick slabs of steak from the restaurant’s serious range of meat. Most folks kick back at the tables outside, cracking open bottles of beer and soju in the late (or early) hours. But it won’t be long before they’re oﬀ, back to the studio. Home, if they’re lucky. —PATRICIA CHONG

“

It was one random night in Black Market that a friend of mine suggested we go to this place with the ‘super sarap’ goto that none of us had heard of before. Since that night, I still find myself going to Goto Monster years later for that goto with tripe and the tokwa’t bagnet. Thanks, Aren!” JESS MILNER DJ

ARMY NAVY J U PI T E R S T R E E T, B E L-A IR , M A K AT I If you didn’t know that there are Army Navy branches that are open 24 hours—well, you do now. After the families have trickled out and dinner turns into a midnight munch, the stragglers trail in— loners, couples, and the occasional group winding down from a wild night not too far away, all called in by the familiar. Brightly lit and almost obnoxiously clean next to virtually everything else still open at four in the morning, the fast food joint beckons to the starved and sleep-deprived who really just want a burger, a siren call challenged only by the sight of golden arches and grinning bees. It’s late. You don’t owe anyone any excuses. —PC

“

I’m on my way home, and it’s open 24 hours. The food can be made spicy, and with a beer—spot on!” JOSH BOUTWOOD Chef

TAPSI NI VIVIAN L AUA N S T R E E T O FF AU R O R A B LV D., PR O J E C T 3 , Q U E Z O N C I T Y “Bawal lahat ’to s’akin,” a man says mournfully, looking at the selection laid out on the counter. There’s sizzling sisig, bulalo, and so much chicharon. His friend, like anyone still awake at three in the morning, decides to live a little and gets tapsilog. Most people here do, and there’s at least one order of it on the tables still occupied at Tapsi ni Vivian. This is one of the few cases where it really is all in the name—and as one of the few restaurants in the area open this late, it’ll be familiar to anyone who’s come out of a gig in Quezon City feeling peckish. Drawing in night owls from all walks of life, it’s the one place you simply can’t go wrong. You point, you pay, you eat— and then you go, out into the night. —PC

“

We were hosting the boys from Love Me Butch at a 70s Bistro gig, and Tapsi ni Vivian is literally around the corner. We thought it was the perfect time to introduce them to some bull stewing for the whole day.” MONG ALCARAZ Chicosci Guitarist

P H OT

C O S BY

NORI ENON

AL III

THE SHAPE OF THINGS [subhead] WORDS BY SAM POTENCIANO PHOTOS BY RALPH MENDOZA EXISTING IN THE RAREFIED SPACE between craftsmanship and industrial design, Paris-based jeweler Le Gramme is quietly redefining the concept of men’s accessories with their radically simple recycled silver cuffs. Sam Potenciano talks to co-owner, Erwan Le Louër, about his unique vision of ethical, minimalist luxury. How do you perceive Filipino men and their relationship with accessories? For us, Asian men in general are much more involved in fashion than Europeans. They aren’t afraid to be very street or edgy. That’s why the Asian market is so unique. Japanese men, for example, are very keen on accessories, and possess a sensibility towards details and craftsmanship. Korea is very quick and brand-oriented—almost Latin. What I see with our Filipino friends is that they have a great understanding and appreciation for design and architecture, which suits Le Gramme since we are very detailoriented. Can you tell us about Le Gramme’s central design philosophy? For us, everything is in the details because we’re working with a very obvious, elementary shape: a ribbon of 925 sterling silver in the form of a cuff. Because the shape is so common, what was interesting for us was to take this basic form and to find a way to design it differently. As designers, where did this particular point-of-view stem from? I have a Master’s Degree in Industrial Design, while my partner, Adrien Messié, is an architect who worked under the interior designer, Andrée Putman. I also used to manage fine jewelry for Margiela before developing my first jewelry line called JEM, which was made entirely from ethical gold. When Adrien and I met, we decided to work together because we had the same tastes—particularly regarding lines and the minimalist aesthetic. It’s a bit radical, but for us, we were attracted to an absence of design. Our inspiration comes from a lot of different worlds. From art, like the work of Agnes Martin, to architecture, such as the work of John Pawson—very minimal yet radical. Your industrial backgrounds play a significant role in your approach to Le Gramme, such as the way each piece is named after its base material’s weight in grams. Yes, from the way each piece is engraved and displayed, down to the production process, Le Gramme sits somewhere in between craftsmanship and the industrial world—which is so different from the way other jewelry on the market is made. Because there are so many architectural details involved, it asks us to be incredibly precise. Do you find that Le Gramme appeals to a particularly niche customer? That’s the thing about our products… because they’re so minimal and the shape is so simple, they become universal, no matter what your personal style is. In Paris, for example, we saw our products on so many different men—from tattooed guys to tailored guys, lawyers to rockers. With Le Gramme, the idea is to mix and stack the widths and textures to create your own accumulation. It’s about creating your own style, and adapting the product the way that you would want to wear it. It became a big playground for us when we understood that using this basic shape, you could create your own style. n

“The more you realize that your time on Earth is quite short, the more you care less about how society perceives you. It might sound cliched but my mortality is my memento mori which pushes me towards and unbridled self-actualization and it’s in the darkness and streaks of strobing lights and clubs such as 2020 where I feel safe and free to be myself.” ― JOSE TONG

IT’S JUST A B O U T TA K I N G A LOAD OFF STRESS BY DRESSING INTO YO U R FAVO RI T E NEW THING AND NOT BE TIMID WITH FOLLOWING T H E B E AT A N D DANCING THE N I G H T A W AY ! ― PAUL JATAYNA

There’s a new energy; especially in such an expressive space like a club, an exchange of ideas follows. In fashion, music, in art― clubs have been historically instrumental in pushing things forward. And that’s exciting for us here in Manila. ― KAREN BOLILIA

the eye For Glecy Rustia-Tantoco, the woman who created Rustan’s, the early years after the war didn’t offer the option of a life of luxury. And so, she created it—not so much for herself but for a Manila society clamoring for the finer things.

has to

travel On the occasion of the 65th anniversary of the retail legend she started, her son Rico Tantoco talks to Jerome Gomez about the beginnings of an empire

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here’s only one very good life and that’s the life you know you want and you make it yourself.” It’s possibly one of the lesser-echoed bon mots from the great style dictator Diana Vreeland, owing to its being almost bereft of her usual penchant for madcap fantasy (this is the same woman who advised: “Why don’t you rinse your blond child’s hair in dead champagne to keep it gold?”). But it may as well be the adopted credo of every single person coming from not exactly the most picturesque of situations, yet looking for a way out—a familiar story arc in the fashion world. It could have easily been the compass that Gliceria “Glecy” Rustia-Tantoco followed in her own journey, except that the St. Scholastican was already starting to make the life she wanted years before Vreeland quotes suggested any whiff of gravitas. Tantoco is the original Lady Rustan, the one who started it all sometime in 1952, when trading luxury goods still fell under the unglamorous-sounding operation called “buy and sell.” There was very little glamour in those days anyway, Manila being just a few years from the devastation wrought by the Second World War and raring to get back on its feet. With the dearth of beautiful things in the landscape, Tantoco used her gift—a great eye for fashion and fine objects—and dove right into a business that would reintroduce an aspirational lifestyle to an environment ready to dream again. Today’s mammoth 65-year-old retail empire Rustan’s (a moniker that combines her and husband Bienvenido “Benny” Tantoco’s last names) now includes five department store branches, the SSI (Stores Specialists, Inc.)brand that represents some of the most famous fashion houses in the world, the department store Adora, and other lifestyle-oriented interests. The Rustan’s story is the story of Glecy, who died of cancer in 1994. As her daughter Zenaida Tantoco, or Nedy, chairman and CEO of the company, recently said in a speech delivered during the 65th anniversary celebration of Rustan’s, “It’s the story of a strong-hearted woman who had a God-given gift, which she used fully to pursue her dreams for the Filipina, whom she believed has every right to be tastefully dressed by only the finest and most coveted names in style, whose home should be impeccably furnished by the best the world has to offer.” Despite its dreamy ideals, the enterprise actually began quite unassumingly, in the living room of the couple’s home on Manila’s San Marcelino Street, across the Masonic Temple, two blocks away from Taft Avenue. The property originally belonged to Glecy’s parents, but Benny would consequently earn enough money to buy the lot next to it and build a house there to prove he could indeed be a good provider to the Rustia folks’ daughter. The two houses would eventually become one, serving as both business address and residence to Glecy and Benny’s young family. A portion of it would be taken over by Glecy’s lifestyle and fashion offerings, attracting a clientele that included her network of friends, members of Manila high society, and even the country’s First Ladies. “She approached every First Lady as a client,” says Rico Tantoco, the first child and only son of Glecy and Benny, although he would later say that Eva Macapagal and his

SHE MEANS BUSINESS

The first Rustanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s store in Makati in 1971, located at what is now 6750 in Ayala Avenue. Opposite: Glecy Tantoco on a buying trip, checking out the eyewear at Christian Dior. Previous: Bernard Lanvin arrives in Manila with his models for a special fashion show in 1975.

mother became very close indeed, and that Imelda Marcos, who would follow Eva, was almost like a soulmate. “I think they knew each other’s secrets. She was rejected by the Marcoses in the beginning because she was close to Eva Macapagal. They wouldn’t let [my mother] in their clique.” “It was also out of necessity,” says Rico, now Rustan Supercenters Board Chair and runs the Sta. Elena Golf & Country Estate, of why his mother got into the retail business in the first place. While stable enough to run a sizable home in a reputable location, Rico’s parents weren’t exactly wealthy to begin with. Both were survivors of the war; Bienvenido’s father died at a young age, and his mother had to seek the assistance of the more financially equipped Fabella family to help put her children to school. The young Benny finished Accountancy and worked as head cashier for the Rufinoowned theaters in Manila: State, Rialto, Ever, Capitol, Lyric, and Gaiety. “He was the most trusted man of the Rufinos,” says Rico, proud of the reputation his father earned, and cheered by childhood memories of being granted the privilege of going in and out of the theaters after school for free. “I used to see a movie 25 times,” he says, eyes brightening at the memory. Like Benny, Glecy didn’t come from privilege. Her father was known to be an excellent lawyer and an upright man. “He decided to fight for the poor, so he didn’t have money because he was always fighting for the landless to get their lands, actually from the friars, [and he was] bumping up against Quezon and Vargas,” Rico recalls. (Coincidentally, Rico would marry a Vargas later in life.) So when Glecy decided to put up a buy-and-sell business, then the smartest venture to get into, she started small—growing from occupying the Tantoco living room, until the family needed to give up the dining area too, to make space for more merchandise. When the idea of buying goods from other parts of the world struck, inspired by a trip abroad with her husband, she sought the help of Benny’s employers. “Can you give me some money?” says Rico, echoing his mother’s words to the Rufinos. “Everything she bought was sold immediately. From there, she started growing.” She may not have had the biggest capital on her hands but Glecy had a loyal group of friends—among them the Youngs and the Rectos—and a network of society-types who were only too happy to find something among her loot that they thought was only available abroad. “Her barkada was so well-off,” says Rico. “But her clients were not her barkada—they were higher in society.” She’d call on them to say she had found something she was sure they would like, and the women would show up on the San Marcelino steps, saving them the time and effort of making a trip to, say, Paris or New York. Needless to say, she possessed a sharp eye for what her clients were likely to lust after. “She knew what they liked—all the rich people, the sugar barons, she knew each of them,” her son recalls. Indeed, no one else had veils as beautiful as the ones that could be found among her wares. And in those days, veils were not only a must for brides, but for church-going women. She knew what the ladies would be clamoring for. She was the first to bring stockings to the Philippines, particularly the seamless ones that were a craze in the 60s. “Lola Glecy was a trailblazer,”

“SHE KNEW WHAT THEY LIKED—ALL THE RICH PEOPLE, THE SUGAR BARONS, SHE KNEW EACH OF THEM.”

THE WORLD IS HER OYSTER

Clockwise, from top left: Tantoco in the 70s with Bernard Lacoste in Paris; visiting the YSL headquarters in the 60s; at the Philippines Fair in China in 1979; Benny Tantoco at the launch of Gucci in 1980, with Patricia Gucci and Italian ambassador Vittorino Rotondaro; Glecy and Benny in 1982, with designer Marc Bohan at the Christian Dior HQ in Paris.

FANGIRL MOMENT

Glecy with Karl Lagerfeld, who in the 80s took over her favorite brand Chanel. Of the luxury houses she did business with, the retail specialist was closest to Oleg Cassini, the people behind Christian Dior, and the Ferragamos.

“HER MARKET WAS JUST A FEW PEOPLE...BUT THEY WERE THE TRENDSETTERS, THE ONES EVERYBODY FOLLOWED. SO THOSE FOLLOWING THEM WOULD ALSO GO TO HER.”

Katrina Tantoco-Lobregat told the Philippine Star’s Millet Mananquil in September. “She was always a couple of steps ahead of others in the industry.” In the days when image endorsers were not exactly a thing, Glecy might have been the best influencer for her refined offerings. In photographs of her during those early years, she is always impeccably put-together: a matching tailored blouse and skirt to meet with Rene Lacoste; a black dress accessorized with heavy pearls for an evening with Karl Lagerfeld; a black sheath over a white turtleneck for a visit to the Yves Saint Laurent headquarters in Paris, a thick belt cinching her waist and a regal brooch perched on her dress’s neckline; kitten heels and a polished leather handbag to meet with the principals of Dior. She was always business-like, yet possessed a quiet panache—a style so relatable to the women she aimed to please. Her son Rico, being the eldest Tantoco, was witness to the growth of the family business and his mom’s balancing act of raising children while attending to the needs of her clientele. He and his four siblings— Nedy, Menchu, Marilou and Marites—were assigned tasks in the store early on: unpacking crates, wrapping gifts, tidying up the shop, the occasional cashier duties. Christmas time was always the busiest in the household. “The place would be packed with shoppers,” Rico remembers. “It was pandemonium.” Rico would also prove a big help to Glecy when she started traveling abroad for her buying trips. “My mother was 22 years older than me, so when she first went buying, she was 28 years old. She would get bothered by men, so she brought me along para huwag siya guluhin ng mga lalake. When I wasn’t in school, she would bring me and she would get bothered less.” At just six years old, he would watch his mother go about her business. When he was much older, he would brief her on a meeting they were to sit for, and she would quickly pick up on the

necessary details in no time. When on her buying tasks, her secret, he says, was that she would go to a store with a very clear picture of her target market in mind. “Her market was [really just] a few people, not many, but they were the trendsetters, the ones everybody followed. So those following them would also go to her.” Entrepreneurship seemed also innate in her. Following the success of the San Marcelino location, she would open a store in Banawe, Quezon City in the late 1950s, convinced that the area’s Filipino-Chinese community would become a significant market. She knew them well, too, and offered a totally different merchandise from what she bought for the Pinoys and tisoys of Manila. Like many who knew wartime life, Glecy had a deep awareness of the value of money. On her buying trips, Rico tells Rogue, she was very frugal, favoring cheap hotels and avoiding the fancy restaurants— these luxuries would be indulged in only later in her success. “But she would give me treats,” the unico hijo reveals. Not wanting to disrupt her buying activities at, say, Wyndham Street in Hong Kong, she would consume her prepared sandwich, then hand Rico money and send him to nearby Jimmy’s Kitchen. “Imagine, I was seven years old [asking], ‘One table, please. Give me the Chicken Maryland.’” Being around his mother taught the young Rico to be more conscious of the art of dress and presenting oneself—something vital to their business, where image is always key. Glecy may not have been tall, but she was a commanding, if impressive presence in meetings with top New York bankers and men of similar stature. “She knew how to present herself and they knew this girl knows what she was talking about,” recalls the son. “I remember meeting the Dior people with her. The head then was Marc Bohan, and guess what, Bernard Arnault”—now chairman and CEO of LVMH, the world’s largest luxury goods company—“was an

RISING SON

“Nobody can match her,” says Rico of Glecy. “She’s a tough act to follow.” Clockwise, from top left: Glecy’s son Rico Tantoco (in dark trousers) at the opening of the family’s first Rustan’s store in San Marcelino, Manila; during one of his mother’s buying trips in Paris; with pet Lucky at the house in San Marcelino; a Christmas window at the Makati store; the opening of the local Charriol boutique in 1997; mother and son on break from their business trip; at the Rustan’s Supplier Convention in 1983.

“IT’S THE STORY OF A WOMAN WHO HAD A GODGIVEN GIFT, WHICH SHE USED FULLY TO PURSUE HER DREAMS FOR THE FILIPINA.”

office boy who was following my mom around. He was so impressed by her,” continues Rico, delighted at the recollection. The timing of Glecy’s entrance into the luxury business couldn’t have been more perfect. Japan and China in the 60s and 70s had yet to stake their claim on the international luxury market, and the French and American houses were more than forthcoming to modest businesses, welcoming to interested companies like Rustan’s who could open doors for them in Asia. “During my mom’s time, they were all hungry,” Rico offers. “No wonder you could meet all the big shots. Asia was new to them, except Hong Kong.” When Rustan’s started licensing international labels for distribution in the Philippines, Glecy would become close friends with the people that represented the brands, especially the families behind Oleg Cassini and Salvatore Ferragamo. She was closest to Christian Dior, whose house would make the wedding dress of her daughter-in-law, Nena Vargas. But the company she considered “holy,” Rico says, was the French entity Chanel, taken over in the early 80s by Karl Lagerfeld. Rustan’s would open its first Makati store in 1959, a two-story affair located at what is now 6750 Ayala Avenue—just a few steps from where it would eventually relocate ten years after, its current address connected to the Glorietta mall. It was Colonel Jaime Velasquez—chief zoning planner of Ayala who also happened to be Glecy’s uncle—who convinced her to make the move, giving her the privilege of choosing a premium spot in what would become the future business district of the country. Her husband Benny would eventually leave the Rufinos and go full-time with Rustan’s, taking care of administrative matters, logistics, and government relations. Glecy, for her part, would focus on the department store and the merchandise, keeping close to the pulse of the consumers, tapping designers to make ready-to-wear lines when the market was moving further away from the culture of the suddenly cumbersome business of made-to-order. She was also very serious when it came to molding her employees. “She was a good trainer,” Rico states. “She would get people from anywhere and make them excellent shopgirls.” Once they’d passed Glecy’s exacting standards, it was believed they could go on to work anywhere in the world. It is perhaps this personal touch, this Glecy imprint that one still sees—feels—in every Rustan's Department Store that has kept people patronizing the business after all these years. “Perhaps only Rustan’s will assist you from the time you buy a product till you get into a car,” wrote lifestyle editor Millet Mananquil in Philippine Star. “Rustan’s was the first to specialize in really good service and offer personal shoppers for clients.” Gigantic malls have taken over the landscape, housing a plethora of stores catering to a wide variety of tastes, ages, classes, but one always comes back to Rustan's. For the informed store attendant who knows exactly when help is needed. For the always courteous and thoughtful men by the entrance who used to—when sparking a cigarette in Makati was still allowed—spring an ashtray out of nowhere for smoking shoppers waiting for their chauffeur. For the thought that one is surrounded by only the best—chosen and curated now, of course, by a new generation of Tantocos, Glecy devotees all, who are only too aware of the legacy they have to live up to. n

STYLED BY MANO GONZALES

AGAINST THE

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One of the biggest surprises of 2017 was the box office dominance of an independent film with untested stars. Mixkaela Villalon talks to director Sigrid Andrea Bernardo and producer Joyce Bernal about the success of Kita Kita, and the journey the film took to get there ILLUSTRATION BY VINCENT ASEO

IT SHOULD NOT HAVE WORKED. ALL OF ITS ELEMENTS, TAKEN INDIVIDUALLY, SHOULD HAVE BEEN RED FLAGS AT THE BOX OFFICE.

They took two fairly popular actors—not superstars, not in the traditional sense—and put them together for an unlikely romantic pairing. There was no colorful support ensemble, no comic relief B-plot to help the main story chug along. Just these two characters and a simple script that did not bristle with hugot one-liners that audiences could latch on to and retweet. The director was assumed to be a newcomer despite having toiled for years behind the scenes in the mainstream industry and working as an independent filmmaker. Worst of all, they killed the leading man in the middle of the film. There was no happily ever after. Despite defying the Pinoy romcom’s tried and tested formula, Sigrid Bernardo’s Kita Kita held its ground in movie theaters nationwide for three weeks, outlasting Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk and Jon Watts’s Spider-Man: Homecoming. The little film that cost P10 million to make turned a staggering profit of P300 million, surpassing Jerrold Tarog’s Heneral Luna as the highest-grossing Filipino independent film. Pressed for what they thought was the magical component of Kita Kita, both director Bernardo and producer Joyce Bernal of Spring Films could only shake their heads in bemusement. “[A film like that] has never been done before. Maybe audiences are looking for something new,” Bernal says. Bernardo thinks it’s the film’s relatability that endeared it to audiences. “Here are two people who don’t look like models. They could be anyone. And anyone can have a great love story.” The seed that would be Kita Kita started with producer Lucky Blanco, who pitched the idea of a love triangle between three ugly people to Spring Films. The heads of Spring Films, Bernal and her partners Piolo Pascual and Erickson Raymundo, thought the idea was worth exploring and greenlit a script for development. Blanco then approached Bernardo to direct the finished manuscript with the proposed cast—Empoy Marquez, Alessandra de Rossi, and another popular comedic actor. “I read the script. I couldn’t direct it,” says Bernardo. It was not something she believed in, and she had been working in the industry long enough to know what lay down that path. She asked for Blanco’s permission to write a new script, this time with just the two actors. Blanco said to give it a shot. “At that time, I had a broken ankle. I was in crutches for three months. Ang hirap pala!” Bernardo explains. She attended meetings, pitch sessions, and foreign film festivals in crutches, making her aware of the challenges disabled people face every day. Despite her handicap, Bernardo believes those three months to be her most productive. Her experience informed that of de Rossi’s character Lea, who goes blind early in the film. “I realized it’s all a matter of perspective. That’s what I wanted to explore in Kita Kita. How our personal perspectives can limit or broaden our world.” Even the idea of a love story between two ugly people was a matter of perspective. “Have you seen Alex [de Rossi]? Hindi siya panget!” Bernardo laughs. De Rossi is morena and often cast in maid roles, but she’s the farthest thing from grotesque. Marquez isn’t bad-looking either. He wears his hair flat over his forehead and keeps the silly moustache because it’s part of his personal brand, but underneath all that is an average-looking guy. “I gave [Spring Films] the new script and told them to take it or 104

leave it,” says Bernardo, and we share a solid minute laughing at the sheer ballsiness of that move. None of the heads of Spring Films had heard of Bernardo before or seen any of her previous indie films, but Bernardo knew what she wanted and did not want to make a bad movie. “Why would they be interested in me [as a director] if they didn’t trust what I can do?” Asked what she would have done if Spring Films turned the manuscript down, Bernardo says she would have still made Kita Kita, but maybe with a different cast and a dramatically scaled back production. Fortunately, Spring Films liked the script. “It was a really good story,” Bernal says. She and her partners are mainstays in the mainstream TV and film industry, and they know what sells. Bernal admits that Kita Kita was a risk, but the same can be said of their other films, Kimmy Dora and Relaks, It’s Just Pag-ibig. “We’re producers. We want our investments to pay off, but we’re also fans of films. Magkano na ba ang [movie] ticket ngayon? P250? P300? We want people to watch a movie and not feel cheated out of their hard-earned money.” With the approved budget, Bernardo, the cast, and a small crew flew to Japan to film and showcase the winter wonderland of Hokkaido in all its summer glory. It’s a love story, a story about disability, and an OFW story all rolled into one. “There are pros and cons to working with a producer,” says Bernardo. On her independent films, she was the writer, director, producer, and the entire marketing team. “With a producer, I didn’t have to worry about the budget, permits to shoot, or what the cast and crew would eat every day. I can focus on directing. But with a producer… you have a producer.” Spring Films came in to flex their muscles during post-production. At nearly every stage of the process, they would have focus group discussions with friends and family and then an initial screening at the University of the Philippines, Diliman to get comments and feedback. This went back and forth as Bernardo and Spring Films strove to reach a compromise. Kita Kita’s post-production woes dragged on long enough for Spring Films to pull it out of the 2016 Metro Manila Film Festival despite having paid for the film’s registration. One of the newer festival guidelines stated that the films had to be on picture lock stage by November 2, which meant no additional editing could be done by then. Instead of risking a half-baked film, Spring Films dropped out to continue editing the movie to satisfaction. The producers deemed Bernardo’s initial cut too long for commercial release and had Bernal step in to trim it down. “[Bernardo’s] director’s cut is longer and has less music,” she says. “It’s just seven minutes longer,” Bernardo adds. “And there’s Tonyo’s (Marquez’s character) alternate death scene.” In Bernardo’s original script, Tonyo dies when he gets hit by a truck. But when they were shooting the scene in Hokkaido, permits and other limitations yielded shots that Bernardo wasn’t too happy about. “It’s my scene. I wrote it. But I didn’t like the way we executed it, so I changed my mind,” she explains. With Spring Films’ permission, Bernardo rewrote the scene to what she felt made the narrative tighter: Tonyo dies by heart attack. “What was supposed to happen was that Tonyo dies, [the audience] doesn’t know what happened, Lea is seen picking up the pieces, and there’s all these clues that Tonyo has had

heart problems all this time they were together. The audience joins Lea in putting the clues together.” Another shooting day was added for the rewritten scenes. Bernardo put it all together in post, and Spring Films held another focus group discussion to see how audiences would respond. Audiences seemed to prefer the less ambiguous death-by-truck version, which made it to the commercial cut released nationwide. The director’s cut with the heart attack death is the version screened at international film festivals. Regardless, Kita Kita was finally released in the Philippines on July 2017 and became an undisputed sleeper hit. Before this, Spring Films approached film studio giants Star Cinema and Viva Films to help distribute the film nationwide. At that time, however, Star Cinema was already backing their own projects: the horror film Bloody Crayons and the too-big-to-fail Finally Found Someone that headlines superstars Sarah Geronimo and John Lloyd Cruz. Instead, Viva Films gambled on Kita Kita and hit pay dirt. Though Spring Films hoped for the best, they certainly weren’t expecting it to blow up the way it did. They just wanted to tell a good story and maybe earn back what they spent, but word of mouth and social media buzz sent more people trooping to the theaters to catch the unlikely hit. “Suddenly everyone on Facebook was a movie critic!” Bernardo says, elated. “Everyone had an opinion. There was an active discussion about the film. That’s a culture we have to bring back.”

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“People were making one to 10 memes (like de Rossi’s character counting one to 10 when trying to calm down),” says Bernal. “We knew that was good dialogue, but we didn’t expect [audiences] to make it trend.” Kita Kita did well in the box office, and the demand for it spilled over to the internet. By the second week, a leaked version was making its rounds on Facebook, prompting the producers and the director to release strongly worded statements. “The leak probably cost us P3 million,” Bernal says, visibly annoyed. She mentions that they already know who first leaked the film, and alludes to an inside job if not in post-production, then on the distribution end with co-distributor Viva Films. This wasn’t a camcorded, pirated version, but a clean commercial cut that was being passed around. Bernal is dead serious about seeking legal action, but admits that the investigation with the Philippine National Police AntiCybercrime group is a complicated process. “Most Filipinos aren’t aware [that watching pirated films] is a crime. They think just because the film is already in cinemas, it’s free for everyone. But there are people’s livelihoods at stake.” Bernardo’s stance is less hardline. “Here’s the thing: I learned to make films by watching films. Some of the films I watched were never released in the Philippines. But I don’t watch pirated local films. So I turn the question back to the audience. If you want more films like

SEEING IS BELIEVING

Initially passed on by bigger studios in hopes of a wider release, Kita Kita soon became the highest grossing local indepent film and outlasted Hollywood films like Dunkirk and Spider-Man: Homecoming.

“Suddenly everyone on Facebook was a movie critic!” Bernardo says, elated. “Everyone had an opinion... That’s a culture we have to bring back.”

Kita Kita, support the filmmakers. Don’t pirate it.” There may be a lesson here, one that the American music industry has learned the hard way. With less people buying physical CDs or digital albums, music artists have turned to live performances and merchandise to earn a profit. “It’s difficult to fight piracy,” Bernardo admits. “But we can make the experience of going to a movie theater more enjoyable. I don’t know how to do that. Should there be a Q and A session with the cast afterward? I don’t know. But we have to make people go back to the theater.” Films like Kita Kita and Antoinette Jadaone’s That Thing Called Tadhana are challenging industry norms with smaller production budgets, smaller casts, simpler love stories, and visually arresting locations. While these films buck the mainstream formula, they also run the risk of becoming the new formula. Mainstream film studios are now sweeping through independent film festivals for the next small-incost-big-in-profit thing and tapping indie filmmakers to write or direct mainstream movies. Bernardo does not see this as a bad thing. She sees Kita Kita’s success as opening the gates for lesser-known filmmakers like herself to be given the opportunity to say something new, in a way that hasn’t been done before. “Just because you have two actors and a nice location does not mean you’ll have a guaranteed hit,” she says. “Do you have a good story to tell?” n

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THE WORLDS Jeff Canoy recounts the night that sparked the end of the fivemonth-long battle to reclaim the Islamic City of Marawi from the clutches of terrorism

AT WAR

In the first week, Vender lost four men. The attack was a surprise and at the same time, it wasn’t. The Armed Forces of the Philippines knew it was coming, but they were caught off-guard by the sheer number of enemy combatants. In the days leading up to the attack, the military already saw red flags. But the moment the first trigger was pulled, it was already too late. There was already a parade of black flags in Marawi.

CHAPTER III: CALL SIGN ICARUS VENDER FIRST HEARD the name “Icarus” from a movie. He remembers that it starred Liam Neeson as an expert tactician and a great marksman, a good man chasing after the bad guys. He killed many, but only for the greater good. Vender says he doesn’t remember what the movie was called, and it isn’t important. What matters, he says, is the impression the film

rescue fellow soldiers trapped in areas controlled by Maute fighters. On September 3, they had to rescue members of the 51st Infantry Battalion who had valiantly raided an enemy stronghold. They were surrounded by hostiles, flashes of fire flickering like stars in a constellation. Vender and his men threw a rope at their injured comrades so they could tie themselves to it and be dragged toward salvation. All this, amid a flurry of bullets. It was admittedly a weird state to be in, sort of like being dragged and hanging upside down for a long time. You survive, but feel like shit after. But the important part was that you were alive. After all, no man was to be left behind. Vender considers himself lucky. He had cheated death multiple times in the past. More than a hundred of his comrades weren’t as fortunate. As the war dragged on, more and more soldiers fell. But there was no time to grieve. There was only the mission. “Simula’t sapul, hindi ako nag-isip ng galit o gumanti sa kanila. Pinagpapasa-Diyos ko lahat ’yong mga ginagawang desisyon, lalo pag ’asa harap kami. Hindi ako nagpapadala ng emosyon.” Yet in the early hours of October 16, when

BUT THE MOMENT THE FIRST TRIGGER WAS PULLED, IT WAS ALREADY TOO LATE. made on him. “Mabuting hitman at sa katapusan no’ng movie, parang may nailigtas siya at parang naging hero siya doon sa taong iniligtas niya.” Vender wanted to be like Liam Neeson. So when he joined the military, he took the call sign “Icarus.” He was reminded every day that this was no movie, and that the war was all too real. There were no second takes, no cue to stop a scene. There was no room for error. A single mistake could spell the difference between how he would be going home to his family—alive or in a casket with a flag draped over it. Over the course of five months, Vender and his team went on missions aboard their APC and into the battle zone. There, they were deployed to buildings where Maute fighters were holed up. If their ammunition failed to pierce through the solid walls, they had to at least force their enemies out of hiding. And unlike the movies, Vender knows there is no sad, tinkling piano score that comes when the hero dies. In war, nobody saw each other as heroes. They were men on a mission, with only the loud thud of bodies falling to the ground and the deafening echo of bullets as their musical score. “Hindi ko mailarawan, sir, sa sobrang hirap.’Yong walang tulog, makarinig ka ng putok, talagang nagigising ka bigla. Mahirap, mahirap ilarawan ’yong dinanas nating mga operating units, lalo na do’n sa ground. Parang kumbaga sa kanta e, sounds. ’Pag naririnig namin ’yong putok, kanta sa pandinig namin.” There were multiple times, too, when Vender’s team had to

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Vender and his team spotted people gathering in the alleyway they were tasked to watch over, a familiar feeling crept back: anger. “So no’ng makita ko na—makikita mo kasi sa camera, na kumukuha siya ng tubig gamit ’yong kamay niya sa lupa. Tubig-ulan siguro. Iniinom niya then kuha siya, ipainom niya sa anak niya. Kaya para pong ang bigat ba sa damdamin na makita mo ang gano’ng bata na sa sobrang uhaw. ’Yon po ang naging epekto ng mga ginawa nitong mga Maute-ISIS na ito.” It started with the image of a woman in their thermal imaging monitor. Now, there was a crowd in front of their APC. His men’s voices grew as the number of people increased. “Sure hit lang sa mga lalaki, bok. Sure hit lang sa mga lalaki.” Thermal images of men, women, and children flashed on their monitor. Vender and his team were not sure if they were the hostages or the enemies. But time was running out and they had to make a call. “’Yung iba nakasuot ng babae tapos may karga na bata. Mga nasa 10 nakalusot. Clear ’yong instruction ni BatCom [Battalion Commander], ha? Tinuturo niya, o. Bakit may bata sila?” Then they saw guns. Men carrying heavy firearms, 30 meters away from the APC and about half a kilometer away from the wharf on the other side. The picture then became clear for Vender’s team: their enemies were using around 30 hostages as human shields. This was Icarus’s moment. He could save many lives that night with the right call. Vender was either going to be Liam Neeson’s version of

THE LEFTOVERS

One hundred forty-eight days was all it took to turn a once proud city into a ravaged warzone. As the government prepares their rehabilitation of Marawi, time will tell if what was broken can ever be truly fixed.

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Icarus, or the Icarus from the cautionary tale in Greek mythology. The boy whose hubris got the better of him.

CHAPTER IV: THE EMIR I.H. THE LETTERS are as benign and non-threatening as letters go, but

in Marawi, they took on a dark, almost sinister meaning. I.H. stood for Isnilon Hapilon, the apparent emir of the caliphate the Islamic State wanted in Southeast Asia. The story of his beginnings teeter from fact to fiction, a tale of one of the most wanted terrorists in the world. Trying to understand what’s real and what’s not is a chase unto itself. According to the United States’ Federal Bureau of Investigation, Isnilon Totoni Hapilon was born on March 18, 1966 in Basilan, part of what is now the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao. Elementary school records, however, claim he was born two years later. Hapilon was supposedly a graduate of the prestigious University of the Philippines College of Engineering. The school denies he’s an alumnus or that he ever studied there. What’s clear from the truths, lies, and half-truths, however, is Hapilon’s reign of terror. He first joined the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF), an Islamic separatist rebel group that eventually forged a peace deal with the Philippine government. Hapilon didn’t see that peace deal unfold, since he had bolted the MNLF to join the Abu Sayyaf around the time Fidel Ramos was president. In the Abu Sayyaf, Hapilon rose from the

ranks until he became second-in-command of a group notorious for kidnappings, bombings, beheadings, and attacks. After the group kidnapped 20 civilians from a Palawan resort in 2001, Hapilon became among the United States’ most wanted, with a $5 million bounty on his head. Three of those kidnapped were Americans. One of them was eventually beheaded. And just as Hapilon’s backstory was hard to trace, he proved elusive to authorities through the years. He escaped one military operation after another. Hapilon was considered a high-value target. In military code, his identity was simplified to “I.H. = H.V.T.” Isnilon Hapilon, native of Basilan, High-Value Target. While he kept mostly to the shadows, he again took the spotlight in 2015, when the group released a video of Hapilon pledging allegiance to the Islamic State. From a lowly MNLF fighter, Hapilon made clear his new agenda, organizing an alliance between local terror groups. They called themselves Dawlatul Islam Wilayatul Mashriq, an alliance that would plot and execute the Marawi siege. As it went on, soldiers uncovered and made public another video—this one, showing Hapilon and his cohorts methodically planning an attack on Marawi. Hapilon was with the Maute brothers—Abdullah, Omar, and Madie. They surrounded a table with a map of the area sprawled on the surface. It showed details of where they would strike and where their fighters would hold fort. Like a king and his council plotting an invasion of a kingdom. Omar was sure of the chaos they would ignite. “Every baril ko, apat mapapatay ko. Bratatatat!” Hapilon, ever the strategist, anticipated the military’s possible

FOR ABDULLAH, WHO HAD BRAINWASHED AND TRAINED CHILD FIGHTERS INTO THEIR RADICAL BELIEFS, ALL BETS WERE OFF. .

defense once they attempted to raid the 103rd brigade in Marawi. “Ilan ang tangke rito?” “Apat, minimum dalawa. Palitan sila. Maliit ’yong dalawa.” For Abdullah, who had brainwashed and trained child fighters into their radical beliefs, all bets were off. “Kukuha tayo ng, halimbawa, mga paaralan.” “Pag nagsimula na ito, pwede na itong makapasok. Free na tayo kahit anong gawin natin sa kanila.” “Pwede tayong mag-jailbreak. Pwede tayong mag-ghanimah [looting]. Pwede tayong pumasok sa mga paaralan. Pwede tayong mang-hostage.” “Kaya ngayon, ang tanong dito, ang bilang natin? Ano ang uunahin natin dito? Paano ang style ng attack natin?” The video, apparently taken at least a year before the attack, showed the emir and his men planning an invasion Vender and the rest of the military would have to stop. IT IS OCTOBER 16, 2017, a few minutes past 3 o’clock in the morning. After five months of military pushback, time was running out. Vender didn’t know it then, but the emir, the high-value target—I.H.—was there that night too. From their thermal imaging monitor, Vender and his team saw men carrying heavy firearms. They surrounded themselves with hostages as they tried to reach a nearby wharf in hopes of staging an escape. Vender looked at their APC’s remote control weapon system. His commander’s instructions were clear: selective targets. Aim only for the armed men that had concealed themselves with civilians. Hurt no civilians. “Kung ’yong may dalang baril, kilos lalaki, ’yon lang po ang

titirahin namin. ’Yon lang po.” Vender fired.

CHAPTER V: PROCESSION BOOM.

The voices of Vender’s men continued to fill the small confines of the APC. This time, it was punctuated by blasts from outside. They were firing relentlessly at the armed men. Boom. Boom. “Baka si Hapilon itong natamaan ba. Paika-ika ba. Sir, putukan ko lang ito sir, para hindi makatawid.” Boom. “Huwag ka nang tumawid, matanda ka.” Boom. The hostages couldn’t hear them, but Vender’s men continued yelling. “Flashlight. Flashlight. Ilawan mo lang, sir. Senyasan niyo.” “Tayo ka na, ’nay. Kumakaway lang.” “Tingin sa likod. Baka mamaya mag-attack.” Boom. Hostages began running as the ground troops moved in. Vender watched from the monitor as military assault teams snatched away hostages from their enemy’s clutches. Military snipers, positioned in a nearby building, also fired. An armed militant fell to the ground

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IT WAS EMOTIONAL AND, IN SOME WAYS, CEREMONIAL. BUT THERE WERE NO TEARS, ONLY RELIEF. ISNILON HAPILON WAS DEAD. 116

but still attempted to grab a child from a female hostage, using the child as a shield. Vender watched as the man kept firing and fighting back. The shoot-out would last for hours. As dawn broke, there was silence—an unfamiliar sound for troops who had gotten used to the rattling of gunfire. Around 13 hostages— mostly women and children—had already been rescued by the military and were now out of the main battle area. “Masaya ako dun sa nakitang na-rescue naming mga bata. ’Yong 13 buhay na ’yon. Masayang masaya.” Vender, exhausted after a long night, stepped out of the APC that had been their sanctuary. Slowly, he walked into the alleyway that they had guarded for days. He approached a group of soldiers that had gathered around the bodies of their enemies. He could hear the murmurings from a distance, but wasn’t quite sure if what he was hearing was true. As he walked closer, the words became clearer. There was no mistake. Isnilon Hapilon and Omar Maute were dead. His commanders confirmed that Maute died instantly from a chest wound sustained during the firefight. Hapilon was the man who had fallen to the ground, the one Vender saw was injured yet continued to fire shots amid the relentless military assault. Hapilon was shot in the head. “Unang-unang sumagi sa isip ko, ito, hudyat ito na matatapos na ang giyera. Kasi nawalan na sila ng mga lider.” Another military vehicle rolled into the alleyway. This one wasn’t there to fight. It was there to pick up the bodies of the two men who had sparked a months-long war that left a city in shambles. From the ruins of buildings that lined the street, soldiers, one by one, slowly came out of the shadows and into the light. From the second and third floors, they watched over the bodies as they were laid inside the vehicle. Silence had once again descended over the main battle area. Boots on the ground surrounded the tail-end of the vehicle as it started to move. Several soldiers took out their mobile phones to take a photo of the bodies. Others took one last look. As the vehicle made its way out of the main battle area, the soldiers stayed in their positions. Not one of them moved. They stood and kept their eyes on the convoy as it drove off into the distance. It was a funeral procession. It was emotional and, in some ways, ceremonial. But there were no tears, only relief. Isnilon Hapilon was dead.

CHAPTER VI: THE END OF THE BEGINNING THE SOLDIERS WERE rain-soaked, but they didn’t mind.

Gunfire and blasts still rang out sporadically in several pockets of the city. Operations continued against surviving terrorists who continued to hide and fight, even in the absence of leadership. A day had passed since the death of Isnilon Hapilon. After months of battling it out against the enemy, the soldiers had finally finished the job. Today’s mission was different: return to the main battle area and wait for their commander-in-chief. This certainly wasn’t President Rodrigo Duterte’s first visit to Marawi since the siege began. The former Davao mayor had made it a point to visit Marawi several times during the siege, even paying a visit to the main battle area, in no less than military garb. Several times, local terror groups tried to start backdoor negotiations, but Duterte refused the idea. The President, who once threatened to make ceviche out of Abu Sayyaf fighters’ livers after they beheaded Vietnamese sailors, wanted no part in negotiations. At that point, blood had already been shed, hundreds of thousands had been forced out of their homes, and the Islamic City was left in ruins. Wearing a camouflage cap and aviator glasses, Duterte faced his battleweary men. “Ladies and gentlemen, I hereby declare Marawi City liberated from terrorist influence. That marks the beginning of rehabilitation.” The soldiers erupted in cheers. “Mabuhay!”

The Philippine flag was raised—its three stars and sun shining brightly over a city that had only seen darkness in the last few months. After 148 days of fighting, President Rodrigo Duterte declared the city free. Vender wasn’t there during the President’s much-awaited speech. He was still in the midst of battle, fighting what was left of the terror group at the time. But he did allow himself a few minutes to call his parents. “Siguro sa loob ng five months, mabibilang ko lang ’yung tawag nila sa akin o text nila. Dalawang beses lang ata tumawag ’yong magulang ko. Then ayaw ko rin sabihin sa kanila na ito ’yung mga nangyayari sa loob para maiwasan din po na hindi sila kabahan.” With the sound of sporadic firefights as his background, Vender carefully told his father what happened during those early hours of October 16, the day Isnilon Hapilon died. And for the first time since the Battle of Marawi began, Vender’s father said he was scared for his son. He also said he was proud of him, of what his Icarus had done. “Pa, malapit na. Uuwi na ako.” IT IS NOVEMBER 2017, a little over a month since Marawi’s liberation. Fighting continues inside the main battle area. Roughly a dozen members of the Maute group are believed to still be inside. Troops continue to hunt them down as they dodge and dismantle improvised explosive devices left behind by their enemies. By this time, most of the soldiers deployed to Marawi are safely back home, in the arms of their families. The few that were left behind would be leaving any time now, their bags packed and ready for transport back to base. It’s only a matter of time, says the military. From the largescale operations of the months past, soldiers shift to “clearing operations.” And although the sounds of sporadic clashes still pierced through the calm, for all intents and purposes, the war is over. But the end of the battle against Hapilon and his crew also meant the beginning of an even bigger battle for the residents of Marawi. How do you pick up the pieces of a war that shattered everything in sight? The battle may be over, but the longer and decidedly less visual journey of a city and the people’s rehabilitation and rebuilding is only beginning. Locals with houses in the main battle area aren’t sure when they can return to their homes. Presuming, of course, that there are still homes to return to. Government units, both local and national, rush to put up temporary shelters. By December, the city government wants to start bringing families out of evacuation centers and back into Marawi. And while everyone scrambles to bring the city back to its feet, local officials worry if Maute fighters who managed to escape have possibly begun recruiting again. The military says it is stepping up counter-radicalization efforts, making sure that local communities in the province help out. It’s a team effort, officials say, to prevent another Hapilon or Maute from wreaking the same kind of havoc. They can’t have another Marawi. n

ISSUE 116

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DECEMBER 2017-JANUARY 2018

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ISSUE 116

FAMOUS ROGUE December 2017-January 2018

GRAYDON CARTER magazine editor “I thought magazines told you more about the culture and society—and I don’t mean ‘society, fancy-dress-party society’; I mean society—than newspapers or books.” –GRAYDON CARTER throughout the industry of resignations and cancellations, but nothing signaled the end of an era more than the exit of Graydon Carter as Vanity Fair’s editor-in-chief. Beyond helming the editorial of one of the biggest titles in all of publishing, Carter has become synonymous to the idea of a celebrity editor and cultural curator. Even in his early days as one of the co-conspirators of the satirical masterpiece, Spy, Carter pushed the limits of what magazines can do and turned New York high society on its head. In 1992 he took over Vanity Fair and would soon transform the successful title into a multimedia empire. The entire industry is all the better for having Graydon Carter in it. His terrific stroke at mixing politics and entertainment, satire with investigative journalism, world class photography with literary wit has become a benchmark for many editors and a blueprint for publications the world over, this magazine included. So as the sun sets on Carter, one can only hope he finds the same success elsewhere and that the industry he leaves behind never forgets to turn a few heads along the way. “It’s all about gut,” he tells Polly Vernon in an old interview for The Guardian. “Editing—it’s always about gut.”

PHOTO BY LLOYD BISHOP VIA GET TY IMAGES

THERE HAVE BEEN many announcements